The Coming Storm
by Parlanchina
Summary: The war is coming, and everybody knows it. Everybody except the Ministry, apparently. For Professor Amelia Lupin (nee Brown), this means more than the usual share of trouble at Hogwarts this year, particularly with a Ministry spy at the heart of the school. Can Amelia keep her mouth shut and her students safe long enough to make it through the year? Sequel to DFA and AGVoS. AU.
1. A Fond Farewell

She rolled over to face the day, decided that she didn't entirely want to meet it and burrowed back under the covers where it was still warm and dark, wrapping an arm around her husband, who was still snoring soundly.

In his sleep, he caught her hand, pulling her closer. Content to be drowsy for a little longer, she shuffled closer, snug against his back. While her husband wasn't much of a morning person, Amelia Lupin generally was. Usually she hated staying in bed of a morning, tending to feel a little claustrophobic and eager to get on with her day.

Not today.

Today was the kind of day you weren't sure you wanted to begin: moving day.

Since her belated entrance into the Wizarding World two years previously, Amelia had spent the majority of her time teaching Muggle Studies at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, in Hogsmeade, Scotland. Consequently, her flat on the edge of London had largely been left empty, unless her Aunt Beatrice or one of her migratory flock of old friends needed somewhere to stay while they were in town.

Before accidentally falling into teaching, Amelia had been an archaeologist, working as a roadie for various touring bands in the quiet season. For the better part of a decade her life had been mobile and she had travelled across most of Europe. All her old friends were settling down now, but they all showed the occasional need to become semi-nomadic again; Amelia was no exception.

When she and Remus had decided that their futures were going in the same sort of direction, he had moved in. The pair of them had shared the flat for the two months of the year they weren't required to be in Scotland. It had been Amelia's retreat from a hectic world for a long time now, amplified by the chaos caused by her previous, rather unbalanced boyfriend. It was the first place she had chosen and saved up for entirely on her own. It was going to be something of a wrench: like saying goodbye to her young-adulthood before moving onto the next phase of her life, with Remus.

Recent events, however, had made the move a necessity. Just a couple of months before, the followers of Lord Voldemort had made a bid to kidnap the Boy Who Lived in order to use his bodily fluids to raise their cult leader from the – well, not entirely from the dead (there had been much discussion in the staffroom about this); from the differently alive.

It wouldn't be long, now, before he started to flex his magical muscles, consolidating his position and starting to move towards completing the mission he had been focussed on when he sort-of-died: total domination and control of the Wizarding World, starting with the UK and moving out from there, taking his own, peculiar idea of racial and ethnic cleansing with him.

With the Wizarding World teetering on the brink of war, the flat felt horribly exposed. They had talked it over and both she and Remus wanted somewhere more easily protected – preferably somewhere that a known quantity could keep an eye on while they were up at the school. They would keep the flat, for the time being, and rent it out (either to a muggle with no connections to the Wizarding World, or to someone they could trust), as soon as they found a suitable tenant.

The move to Bea's farm in Shropshire had been on the cards for a week or two now, and it was hard not to feel a little like they were running away. Amelia had written to Bea to ask if it was a possibility back in May, the day after she and Remus had exposed and apprehended Lord Voldemort's key supporter inside the school, who had been hiding in plain sight for the better part of a year.

The altercation between the Lupins and Barty Crouch Junior had been quick and bloody, and there had been several moments when forcing the imposter to show his hand had seemed foolhardy. Her forthright and outspoken cousin, Hermione Granger, who – along with the rest of her year – had witnessed the brief, but violent, fight from the windows of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom, had been surly and short with them both for several weeks, muttering darkly about Gryffindors and undue risks.

Given her propensity for nearly getting herself killed in the first four years of her scholastic career, Amelia had told her she hadn't a leg to stand on and eventually the girl had given up, distracted (in any case) by the end of term exams and the conclusion of the ill-fated Triwizard Tournament. Besides, after he'd murdered his own father in the Hospital Wing and they'd worked out just who the imposter posing as ex-Auror, Alastor 'Mad-Eye Moody' was, removing him from access to the student body had been something of a priority. Remus had shown Amelia the man's court records from the previous war; she didn't like to think that anyone who would willingly torture someone to the very edge of their sanity should be allowed the freedom of a school.

She didn't like to think what might have happened if they hadn't intervened when they did.

With these unhelpful thoughts chasing around her brain, Amelia drifted back to sleep. It was with some surprise that she woke a little while later, to an empty bed. She hadn't expected to go back to sleep at all; she squinted at the clock. Nearly an hour had passed since she'd first opened her eyes that morning.

Amelia groaned. There was so much to do!

She rolled over as Remus nudged the door open with his hip, carefully carrying two mugs of tea. A slow smile spread over his face when he saw her sprawled across the bed, watching him.

"Morning," he said, with that slow, sunny smile still gracing his lips.

She paused for a moment to take him in. His tousled light brown hair – already flecked with silver though he was only just approaching his mid-thirties – shone like burnished wood in the fresh morning light. Like Amelia, much of Remus's youth had been spent on the move, but for all the wrong reasons. Bitten by a werewolf when he was very young, life had not always been kind on her husband, the Wizarding World having an inexcusably dim view of lycanthropy.

When they had met, Remus had been thin and exhausted, bouncing from job to job and town to town to make ends meet, having to pack up and move on every time someone found out about his condition. The way he described it (which he did only reluctantly), the general reaction of modern society was one of disgust, and a slight improvement on the way things had been in recent history, mostly because there were fewer actual torches and pitchforks around.

Three thin scars on his face were a permanent, visible reminder of his condition and the things that got him noticed most often. Once, he had admitted to her that he had hated them when he was younger, but these days he barely paid them any mind. He had made his peace with his scars, and the world that reviled them.

Amelia would have preferred him never to have had the pain of any of the network of scars that crossed his body like cobweb, but since they were there anyway she told him they only added to his charms. It wasn't as if she didn't have her fair share of scars, too, including the ones he had inadvertently given her.

These days, having a steady job and a permanent home, he was much healthier – and it showed. Amelia thought he was extremely good looking, in an understated way, and she always had, even when he had been skinny with lack of food and his clothes had been threadbare.

Having grown up outside the Wizarding World, Amelia had much more progressive views on his condition, though it pained her to see how he suffered around the time he transformed. It took it out of him and – even though these days he had access to a potion that reduced the pain and allowed him to keep his mind – it was still fairly traumatic on the body. She was always pleasantly surprised by how quickly he bounced back, and how much energy he had the rest of the month.

Remus's grey-blue eyes sparkled with mischief, enjoying her obvious assessment of him.

"I hope you like what you see, Mrs Lupin," he told her. "I'm afraid you're rather stuck with me."

Amelia stretched happily in the sheets, a satisfied smile on her face. "Are you still going to bring me tea when we're old and doddery?"

"Well, _you'll_ be old and doddery," he teased, sitting beside her on the bed and handing her one of the mugs. "I have no intention of being."

Amelia laughed, pushing her unruly blonde hair out of her face. She took a sip of tea – Osmanthus and Green Tea this morning – and made herself comfortable against the pillow propped up on the headboard. Remus joined her, cradling his own mug in his hands.

They sipped their tea in silence for a few minutes, content to enjoy the moments of stillness before the expected chaos of the day.

Amelia leaned out of bed and put her empty mug down on the floor beside the bed. She straightened up, looking around her old familiar bedroom, and sighed.

"You don't really want to move, do you?" Remus asked, softly.

"No, not really," she admitted, leaning her head against the pillow. "I know it's not much, but I love this old place." She pulled a face. "It feels a bit like I'm leaving a part of myself behind, you know? Still, needs must when the devil drives."

Remus gave her hand a squeeze. "I know, love," he said, and kissed her hair. "But we can't stay out here – the stronger Voldemort gets the more he's going to be looking for people who oppose him, and we're both a bit too vocal for our own good."

"And if they're going after us, they'll go after Bea, too." Amelia nodded slowly. "I know. I know it makes sense, but it just makes me a little sad."

"Try to think of it like we're moving forward in our marriage," he suggested, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles. "Starting the next chapter. Okay it's not entirely by choice, but…" He smiled slightly. "I have so say, even if we spend most of our time at Hogwarts I'm rather looking forward to setting up a home with you."

Amelia smiled. She couldn't help it. "Well, when you put it like that…" she said, and he laughed. "No, you're right. I'm just being silly. It's the next great adventure."

"That's the spirit," he goaded, kissing her forehead.

"You're okay with essentially moving in with my aunt, though, right?" she asked, chewing the inside of her lip.

"Of course I am," he assured her. "And moving into the cottage isn't quite the same thing as moving in with Bea – it's a different building, for a start."

Amelia grinned, feeling relieved. It was something that had been weighing on her for some time.

"Yes, but her personality is roughly the same size of the farm."

Remus laughed and pulled her into his arms. "Meeting her for the first time was a little intimidating, I have to admit," he said, and Amelia snorted at the memory*. "I think she's warmed up to me now, though."

"Her bark is worse than her bite."

"Hah! Like mine."

Amelia swatted his arm, affably. "You, my love, hardly bark at all," she teased. "You're very well trained."

Remus shook his head, unable to stop the corner of his mouth twitching up, and kissed her. It was usually the simplest way to stop her talking, and she knew exactly what he was up to. She could feel him trying not to laugh.

"Come on," he said eventually, when they broke apart. "Or Molly and your aunt will never let us hear the end of it."

They rolled out of bed, dressing quickly in old clothes suitable for moving. Most of their belongings were already packed, ready and waiting for the small army of 'volunteers' who were helping get them settled. Most of Amelia's friends were off digging, since summer was their busiest season, so instead they had reached out to the Weasley clan, who had become close friends over the last couple of years, and more reluctantly to Sirius Black and his godson.

While Remus was sure that his oldest and best friend would do anything for him, should he ask, he also knew how frequently things exploded around the man, particularly if he was allowed to get bored.

Harry Potter, Sirius's godson, had assured him that Sirius would be on his very best behaviour, however, and Remus almost believed him: Amelia and her aunt could be terrifying when they wanted to be. Since his release from the wizarding prison, Azkaban, where Sirius had been serving time for a crime he had not committed, he had taken up residence in a spacious cottage in the country, about as far away from his old life as he could get. Although Harry had to spend some of his holiday with the loathed Dursleys, he also had a room at Sirius's, where an eye could be kept on him.

Since Voldemort had returned, keeping an eye on Harry had become a permanent preoccupation of the adults in his extended family.

Molly and Arthur would be bringing four of their seven children along to help (or hinder, depending on how the twins were feeling), and Hermione had invited another of their friends, Neville Longbottom. The kids would be staying for a couple of days, so they could ramble around a different part of the countryside for a change and give Molly and Arthur the opportunity to have a short holiday in Devon, the first they'd had as a couple since their first son had been born.

Amelia set to work dismantling the bed, bundling their bedding up and carefully tying together the wooden slats that made up the frame. She hummed while she worked, as she often did, smiling when she heard Remus whistling along with the tune from the kitchen. As they packed the last few things, she found that she couldn't be unhappy with the move – not with Remus pottering around in the background, knowing that wherever she was heading, he would be there too.

She had to admit, the cottage at Pear Tree Farm wasn't a bad place to start married life, either. She and Hermione had grown up around the farm, spending their summers in the orchards and their winters by the fire in Bea's kitchen while their parents played Scrabble or cards together in the sitting room. Though she loved her, she and her mother had had a rather rocky relationship, so most of her happiest memories were at the farm, where there had been other people around.

Bea and her late husband, Ernie, had moved into the old stable block and barn at Pear Tree Farm when her grandmother had run it, renovating it bit by bit over the years. The farmhouse itself – now illogically referred to as the cottage – had fallen into disrepair over the years following Bea's great grandmother's death and had needed some serious work to make it habitable again. Work that Amelia had been happy to help with between excavations and gigs.

Bea had always intended to rent it out, one day, but she preferred her own company and that of her family, so the house had stayed vacant, but cared for, for some time. Even when Hazel, Amelia's best friend, had moved into Pear Tree Farm, she had taken a room in Bea's part of the buildings, at least until everyone worked out what they wanted to do.

Her arrival at the farm had been a bit of a rush decision, too, her relationship with one of Remus and Amelia's colleagues and closest friends, Severus Snape, potentially putting her in a great deal of danger now that Voldemort was back in business. Severus had been on the wrong side of the last war, and Hazel's lack of a magical background made her an obvious target for the Death Eaters, who were probably even now wondering how to test their old friend's loyalty.

Being a double agent was never simple.

Amelia grimaced; she hated to think of any of her friends being put in that position, but he didn't really have a choice. His loyalty was now firmly, unshakeably to Dumbledore, and as a spy he could be very useful to anyone who didn't want the old man's genocidal opposite to take over the world.

The war – though it hadn't quite started yet – was never far from peoples' minds.

No one Amelia knew had any doubt that there would be one.

Knowing that it was inevitable, she pushed these darker thoughts as firmly to the back of her mind as she could, determined to enjoy whatever peaceful time they had left. Now Amelia had made a start on packing up the last of her things, taking over the old farmhouse with Remus seemed much more like an adventure. They could make it their own, together.

She carried the last few bags and bundles of things through to the living room, currently containing all of their possessions, mostly in boxes – predominantly books. Remus came out of the kitchen with the few breakfast things they'd left out, ready for the move. Amelia looked around.

"I hate this place when it's tidy," she sighed, dusting her hands off on her jeans.

"You said that last year," Remus told her, wrapping his arms around her from behind.

She felt him tuck his chin into her shoulder and smiled, hugging his arms to her.

"It's not a bad old flat, really," she said, running her eyes over the bare walls. "I hope whoever we get to move in treats it better than I did, leaving it alone for ten months of the year, poor thing."

"Come on, let's get this first lot Apparated across, and then you can bunk off and take charge of the kids."

"Yes, if by 'bunk off' you mean 'be sick in the bushes'," she grumbled.

Apparation, though convenient, was not Amelia's favourite means of travel. It had a way of making you feel like you had been turned inside out and back again, which was very inconvenient if you had eaten anything in the last forty-eight hours. She just didn't seem to be able to get used to it.

Remus grinned and took the opportunity to pat her soundly on the bottom. She flailed ineffectually in his direction and he sprang back, looking impish. His childish side was a delight to see, and usually Amelia would be happy to encourage it. Today, though, with two Marauders and the son of another (let alone the Weasley Twins) around, she was prepared to err on the side of caution.

"Race you there?" he suggested, and then vanished with a loud pop.

"I suppose I should be grateful the cottage actually has fireplaces."

0o0

*See the Epilogue of _Dreams and False Alarms_.


	2. Lupin Cottage

A few miles outside the village of Knockin in Shropshire, not far from the Welsh border, Pear Tree Farm nestled snugly between several acres of orchards which were, in defiance of the name, curiously bereft of pear trees. There were sloes, damsons, plums, cherries, greengages and several varieties of apples, which Bea and her team turned into fairly deadly cider every autumn. In fact, the only pear trees on the whole property were tucked unobtrusively at the end of the old stable block.

They were ancient and a bit gnarly, their higgledy-piggledy branches spilling out in random directions, and had been old even before the farmhouse had been rebuilt, at some point in the early eighteenth century, on the footings of the old medieval manor it replaced. There had been a farm of some sort on that ground at the time of the Norman conquest, and probably even earlier, given the wealth of Saxon pottery that turned up in the garden beds.

The farm was where Amelia had first become fascinated with archaeology. It gave her a buzz to know that people had been living and working on the land there for more than a thousand years.

The farmhouse that would forever be a 'cottage' in her mind was a solid, stocky sort of building in good Welsh stone, covered on two sides by Virginia Creeper, whose leaves journeyed through all the colours of fire in the autumn, standing out in all their glory on the light, sand-coloured stone. It was large – certainly bigger than she and Remus needed – with an extension out the back that housed a second living room and a guest bedroom. The plan was, once everything was settled, to let Hazel take over the guest room and bathroom, and live in the house while they were up at the school, and use the Floo network to get to work in London.

The long range of the old stable block and barn, which was now the farmhouse proper, stood off to the left of it, the limestone cobble walls gleaming warm and pink in the sun, overlooking the well-tended herb garden that fronted both houses.

Amelia Apparated in the middle of the ramshackle gazebo at the centre of the herb garden, the heady scent of the roses and honeysuckle that made it more private mingling with the greener aromas of the plants in the beds. Immediately wobbly after Apparating, she reached out to steady herself and swore as a stray thorn caught the back of her hand. She shook it, absently; she'd had far worse than a simple scratch from a rose in the last few years.

Her stomach settling, Amelia stepped out onto the gravel path and stooped to pick a sprig of thyme, crushing the aromatic leaves between her fingers and inhaling the sharp, homely smell of the oils within. Smiling, she tucked it behind her ear and strode over to greet her Aunt and cousin, who were already chatting merrily with Remus at the break in the little garden wall that separated the two houses.

"You took your time," Remus teased, while Amelia swept Hermione up into a hug.

She stuck her tongue out at him.

"Saying goodbye to your old flat?" Bea guessed, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

"Yeah," she agreed. "I mean, I'll be back as soon as we have a tenant, but –"

"But it's not quite the same." Bea nodded. "Well, I'm very glad to have you around, at any rate." She dropped the keys into Amelia's hand. "Seems right that it should be yours," she said, nodding at the farmhouse. "You did most of the work on it."

Amelia smiled, waving a hand dismissively. "Nah, it was mostly the builder."

"Poppycock! Anyway, I need a word with my foreman. Excuse me."

Bea stalked away, a tiny, beautiful menace in a flowery dress.

"I suppose we should give it a once over," Amelia suggested, over Hermione's giggles. "Before the forces of darkness appear."

"Speaking of Sirius," said Remus, grinning, "he and Harry will be along a little later in the day. He has to collect him from the Dursley's this morning."

"Sometimes," Hermione reflected. "I almost feel sorry for the Dursleys. At least when Sirius is involved."

She followed Remus and Amelia to the sturdy oak front door; of all their family, she had spent the least time in the farmhouse since its restoration and was curious to see it. Up until now, Remus, too, had only really seen the outside of their new home.

Amelia unlocked the door and grinned up at Remus, her heart rate picking up a little. He was right: setting up a home together _was_ exciting. She nodded at the handle, where her hand was already resting; Remus beamed back, covering her hand with his.

They opened the door to their new home together, and stepped over the threshold.

It was obvious that the cottage hadn't been lived in for a while. Amelia frowned slightly at the faint staleness to the air; Remus, whose sense of smell was far superior, pulled a face. They ducked into the room on their left, which had been a dining room at some point in the distant past; there was still a decent (if elderly) dining table at the centre of the room, but no chairs except for the window seat that looked out onto the courtyard at the end of Bea's cottage. Remus went and looked out of it while Amelia stuck her head into the chimney above the fireplace, squinting upwards to check that the flue was clear.

"Well, there's no interlopers here," she said, and Hermione came to have a look, too.

"What were you expecting, Doxies?" she asked, her voice a little muffled.

"No, actually," said Amelia, with the realisation that small, vicious purple imps genuinely might have taken up residence in the old house. "Birds' nests – particularly when there's been no fires lit for a while."

"Can't you put something over the chimney pot?" Hermione asked, brushing her hands off.

"Yeah, but it's been a while since I climbed up there and sometimes they can get damaged."

Amelia looked over at her husband, who was still leaning over, gazing out of the window, one palm pressed to the light golden wood of the window seat. A slight smile graced his mouth, giving him a happy, contented look that took years off him. Amelia guessed that he had never expected to live anywhere with this much charm – or in fact, with much more than one room and a working tap. He'd had such a hard life.

She watched him for a moment, the corner of her mouth twitching upwards a little, until Hermione, beaming conspiratorially, nudged her in the ribs.

Amelia pushed her away, affably, and went to have a look at the sitting room on the other side of the hall, which was warm and welcoming, even without any furniture. One wall was built in red brick, a later addition to support the old beamed ceiling, against which an old, cream coloured Welsh Dresser leaned. There was a working fireplace, which would be handy for connecting up to the Floo network, and an old folding writing desk that her great, great grandfather had made.

Beyond it lay the kitchen, which was all honey coloured wood with a red-tiled floor and white tiled walls. There was a range, which Amelia had never really got used to cooking on, and a hefty kitchen table that wouldn't have looked out of place in a medieval castle.

"Ooh, another window seat," Hermione declared, and went to investigate it.

"Yeah," said Amelia. "It's not like we needed the old mangle and stuff there anymore, anyway."

"Nice," said Remus, admiring the range.

Amelia grinned; she could practically feel him think, 'No more microwave'. Perhaps, with her occasional ability to read minds, she had.

"The microwave's coming too," she said, and laughed when he pulled a face.

Remus had never really got the hang of the thing, and Amelia had caught him arguing with it on several occasions.

"Well, I won't need to use it," he said, running a hand over the range. "Mum used to cook on one of these," he murmured, lost in a moment of reverie. "Used to heat up the whole house in winter."

Amelia beamed, wrapping her arms around his waist. He turned and kissed her over his shoulder. Hermione, who had been watching them, rolled her eyes and looked out across the herbs in front of the house.

"I will never understand how someone who dislikes Potions so much could be so enthusiastic about cooking," Amelia told him, and he took her hand.

"Cooking doesn't tend to explode – unless Padfoot is around." He laughed, and pulled her onwards, into the passageway.

Their footsteps slapped on the stone tiles that led out of the kitchen; despite the heat of the middle of summer, this part of the farmhouse was always cool, leading out into the walled garden. Part of the later extension, it led into the living room, which Amelia had always felt was a bit superfluous. There was a fine old stone mantelpiece in there, which Beatrice had found in a reclamation yard and Amelia had got back to the farm by borrowing a motorbike and trailer from the mason there. Not an experience she wanted to repeat.

It was a wide room with two windows, one looking out over the garden, the other to Bea's garden and the lodge, which contained Beatrice's one concession to luxury: a small, but beloved swimming pool. Remus walked around it with half a smile on his face.

"You know," he said. "This room would be perfect to read in. Find something comfortable to sit on and fill it with…"

"Books?"

"Books." He grinned, grabbed her hand and whirled her around as if they were dancing, catching her around the waist and pulling her to him. He seemed to be thoroughly enjoying exploring the farmhouse. "A whole room just for books. Think of it – we could curl up together of an evening."

"Suits me," she said sweetly, and kissed him.

They heard Hermione's footsteps pause at the archway leading to the passage, and then continue on into the Utility room.

"She's being very patient with us," Remus observed, tucking a lock of hair behind Amelia's ear. "Being soppy all over the place."

"She's being nothing of the sort," Amelia snorted. "As tolerant as my lovely cousin is, she knows perfectly well if she annoys us we'll never let her hear the end of it when Ron finally gets round to asking her out."

"I heard that," said Hermione, sharply, from the other room. "He'll do no such thing. He doesn't think about me that way."

"Bet you half a Sickle?" Remus asked, under his breath.

0o0

Reinforcements arrived in the form of Molly and Arthur Weasley, along with the youngest four members of their brood. Fred and George, who were now legally allowed to Apparate, immediately popped out of sight and back into it to take Hermione by surprise. Amelia heard her shriek and the subsequent laughter as she chased them out into the walled garden.

Ron scowled in their general direction.

"This is beautiful," said Molly, admiring the herb plot. "I've never been that good at gardening."

"Neither have I!" Beatrice declared happily, appearing out of nowhere. "It's all Amelia's handiwork. Besides Molly, you and I are better set to feeding people, and my lovely niece has been known to set fire to pasta."

"That was _one_ time, Bea!"

"Come in and try my triple chocolate cake!"

Since everyone's faces had lit up at that proclamation, they all made their way into Bea's kitchen, where tea and a ridiculous quantity of cake were available. Arthur trailed happily behind Ron and Ginny, who were already bickering good-naturedly.

"It's a big thing, moving into your first home," he said, putting a fatherly arm around both their shoulders. Amelia felt a blush rising in her cheeks; it was sweet of him, especially as neither of their fathers were around to offer any advice, but Amelia had never been especially good at receiving it. Even if it was good-natured, it just made her squirm. "Particularly for a young couple just starting out – even if you two have already been living together for some time, it's very different when it's just you and the four walls."

Out of the corner of her eye, Amelia saw Remus slowly turning pink; grateful that this was at least as uncomfortable for him as it was for her, she let Arthur talk merrily about patience and honesty until he ran out of steam. As touching as it was, the end came as something of a relief.

"Anyway, I've got something for you two." He pulled a cloth wrapped bundle out of his cloak. "I – er – hope you like it."

He held it out, and Amelia motioned for Remus to take it; too much of moving into the cottage felt like her adventure, after all. She watched him unwrap it, curious. Remus laughed, looking suddenly delighted. He showed her a hand chiselled wooden sign, carved in honey-coloured cedar. Amelia read it, breaking into a wide grin.

"'Lupin cottage'!" Amelia exclaimed, and then hugged Arthur. "I love it!"

"Arthur, it's wonderful," said Remus, and hugged them both, making the tips of Arthur's ears turn pink.

"Well, I thought it suited you," he laughed.

"We could put it under the lantern by the front door," said Remus. "It'll look great – really great! Lupin cottage…"

"We'll have to have another look at the planting," said Amelia, nodding at the flowerbeds in front of the newly christened cottage. "I'm good at lupins."

"That you are," said Arthur, and threw an arm around her shoulders, laughing. He winked at Remus. "In fact, I would say you have a particular talent."

Amelia flushed.

0o0

Sirius had appeared, as if by magic, as soon as the first slice of cake had been cut, presumably out of some kind of food-based prescience. Harry and Neville, who had been collected en-route, followed him through the door, grinning and faintly apologetic. They stowed their sleeping bags with Ron, Ginny and the twins' in Bea's living room and had a piece of cake each to 'prepare themselves' for the day.

The men (and the twins) were then despatched to the flat to start Apparating stuff over to the living room of Lupin Cottage, while Bea and Molly gossiped and Amelia gave the kids a tour.

"I wish _I_ could move house," Harry grumbled, when they came back downstairs.

"Dursleys driving you mad?" Amelia asked, hearing the distant cracks which heralded the appearance of wizards and furniture.

"You have no idea," he complained. "This year they're just ignoring me entirely, which would be a brilliant improvement if it weren't so weird to be able to walk into a room and back out of it without anyone making eye-contact. It's like being a ghost!"

"I'd kill to be able to do that," said Ginny, wistfully. "Between my brothers and my parents I can never get away with anything."

"Now, Ginny," Amelia admonished, amused. "You know that's not true."

"Definitely not," said Ron. "You get away with loads more than me – you just never seem to get caught!"

"Practice makes perfect," his sister told him, sweetly.

"You could always blow up your aunt again, Harry," suggested Neville, with a wicked grin. "I bet they'd be happy for you to move out, then!"

Ever since he'd heard the story of Harry's accidental inflation of his Aunt Marge it had been one of Neville's favourite things to tease his friend with – and with good reason.

Amelia chuckled.

"I don't think you could get away with saying it was accidental a second time," said Hermione, with a wry smile, and they all laughed.

"Okay," said Amelia, as a second series of cracks heralded a second wave of boxes and furniture. "Best get cracking – everything should have been labelled with the room it should be in. All the books are going in the back room. If you spot anything that says 'potions' or 'apothecary', stick it in the utility room for now. We can leave it there until we figure out which bit of the old stable block we want to turn into a potion brewing room."

"Why don't you just use the kitchen?" Neville asked, interested.

"Not everyone I know is entirely comfortable with things like rat tails or flobberworm mucus being near a food preparation area," she explained. "In fact, if it comes to it, I'd rather not have them near a food preparation area, either. And if anything's going to explode it better do it outside, where it's less likely to cause permanent damage."

0o0

Remus finished putting the bed back together and hauled the mattress into place. Making the bed could wait, he decided, just a little while longer. He opened one of the many backpacks Amelia had somehow accumulated over years of digging and pulled out a bundle of towels.

It had been a long, tiring day he reflected, as he carried them to the bathroom, though quite a lot more pleasant than other times he had been required to move house on short notice. Molly, Arthur, Sirius and the kids had been a great help, ferrying their stuff, cleaning the old flat from top to bottom, putting furniture together, starting to get things put away, and – with Bea's help – feeding everybody.

Although everyone had been weary when darkness had eventually fallen there had been a sort of party feeling to dinner, after which Hermione and her friends had settled into Bea's living room for a movie marathon. Sirius had even offered to help Bea clear up the kitchen, though Remus suspected this had more to do with persuading her to teach him brewing and cider making than anything else.

Remus and Amelia had pretty much been left to themselves after that, which was why he could hear his wife singing along to the radio in the kitchen, loudly and reasonably accurately. She never seemed to be still or silent, except when she was reading. It was one of the things he loved about her: she seemed to take such joy in life.

He broke into a grin when he opened the door to the bathroom. He'd seen it before, briefly, when they'd explored the house that morning, and it had made him smile then, too. When her aunt Beatrice had renovated the cottage, she had allowed Amelia free rein with the bathroom, which was probably why it was turquoise. She seemed to have been going for a Moroccan theme; the whole thing was bright and eclectic, very much like her.

He put the towels out, thinking fondly of his wife's peculiar blend of stubbornness and eccentricity. He'd noticed it the first time he saw her, on the Hogwarts Express on the last day of a hot and dusty summer. She'd been careful to mute the colours she was wearing, uncertain about what kind of school she was joining, but even then the ensemble had been something of a riot of purples and greens.

There had even been a minty green scarf with skulls on it, which he'd initially frowned at, given the negative connotations of the motif, but Amelia hadn't abandoned it even when she found out about Death Eaters. It was a part of her personal style, and she saw no reason to change it. No one else even looked twice at it these days, except for a few wary eleven year olds in the first weeks of term.

He was glad she was so stubborn; if she hadn't been, he would still be a lonely werewolf and she would probably be off with some dashing young wizard somewhere. A year or two ago, his internal monologue would have been tempted to wander off here and dwell on how unfortunate she was to be stuck with a poor, cursed creature like him, but a couple of years of Amelia's unwavering company had taught him to suspect that he may not be as bad or as boring as he'd once thought.

Of course, there was still the curse, but it felt like a much smaller part of his life now he knew he could come home to someone who cared for him, and find somewhere warm to curl up. The Wolfsbane Potion helped rather a lot, too.

He padded down to the kitchen, where he found Amelia dancing around the table, unwrapping crockery and singing _Positively, Absolutely_. He leaned against the doorframe for a moment, happy just to watch her cavorting with thin air. Her hair – usually left to its own devices, because the alternative took too long – was long and wavy, and had a tendency to expand alarmingly in humid conditions. At other times it seemed to be very much alive, particularly when she slept. Remus had woken on several occasions to find himself in a cloud of pale golden hair.

Her eyes, when they weren't smiling (which was seldom), were sharp and keen, and a stormy kind of blue that seemed to change with the weather. Along with her hair, they gave her the look of a Viking shield maiden, and since she occasionally turned up at the scene of a crisis carrying a sword, it was an image he couldn't entirely shake.

She wasn't traditionally beautiful – or rather, she wasn't beautiful by modern aesthetic traditions. There was something a little too fierce about her, and she couldn't quite keep the smile away from her lips long enough to satisfy the way women were supposed to look in magazines, nor was she nearly as thin. Remus thought she was delightfully curvy – in fact, her curves were one of the things that had first drawn him to her. Outside of a classroom, he couldn't keep his hands off them.

Or his eyes.

"You know, someone might describe you as a dirty old lech," she observed, not even turning around.

"Yes, but only people who can read my mind," he remarked, tearing his eyes from his frank appreciation of her bottom. "Fortunately for me, that's generally limited to Sirius – who knows me far too well – and you."

Amelia smirked. She had always been unusual, even for a witch (which she hadn't known about for most of her life), and had found out upon her arrival at Hogwarts that she was a Reader: a touch telepath. Of course, the telepathy wasn't strictly touch related anymore, and the more time she spent around magic, the stronger her talents were becoming. It made people nervous, and she had taken to admitting to her skills only if absolutely necessary.

She had been known to pick up on the occasional thought, if it was 'loud' enough, and especially from Remus, whom she spent a good proportion of her time with.

Her smirk broadened, making his pulse speed up accordingly.

Remus raised an eyebrow. "Can you tell what I'm thinking right now?" he asked, though by this point his voice was really more of a growl.

His wife put her head to one side for a moment, and then her eyes flicked in the direction of the kitchen table. She hopped onto the edge of it, biting her lip.

"Oh, good."


	3. Pizza in the Garden of Eden

"Hello?"

Amelia backed out of the wardrobe she had been fixing the back of, somehow managed not to topple over backwards, and trotted down the stairs. By the fireplace in the sitting room, which Arthur had had one of his friends at the Ministry connect up to the Floo Network early that morning, was a faintly sooty looking Severus Snape. He snapped his fingers as Amelia rounded the corner and all the soot on his clothes evaporated, leaving him looking immaculate, as usual.

He was eyeing the TV with an air of distrust.

"Amelia," he began, and then had to stop because his friend had enveloped him in a tight hug.

He returned the hug with his usual mix of surprise and faint embarrassment. She felt him try to move back, expecting her to end it, but she didn't want to; she held him tighter, inhaling the curious mix of herbal and metallic aromas that came from being a Potions Master.

Ever since they had found out that Voldemort was back, Severus had been vanishingly hard to find. Although he refused to tell her what he was up to, Amelia had a strong suspicion that he was spying for Dumbledore – a theory borne out when he had broken off the budding relationship he had been having with Hazel, for her own safety.

Fortunately, it was impossible to track anyone's movements through the Floo Network, and as a special favour to Arthur, the Floo Wizard had excluded every fireplace except a select few, which made the cottage a lot more easily defensible, which made Amelia and Remus feel a lot better. Severus couldn't use it often, in case someone unsavoury had managed to circumvent their unplottable-ness and was watching the farm, but they were reasonably certain this wasn't the case – yet.

It was entirely possible that this visit would be a one off.

Severus was grumpy, irascible, annoying, occasionally mean, difficult to get along with (sometimes, just plain difficult), intelligent, courageous and possessed of a dry, endearing wit. They had fallen out several times, particularly when Amelia had found out about his dark and (he freely admitted) stupid past, but had always been close.

It was a bit of a relief just to see him in one piece.

"Do you mind if I have my body back now?" he asked, after a moment.

"Sorry," she said, taking a step back. "I missed you."

"You only saw me a fortnight ago," he said, but the note in his voice told her that he understood.

It couldn't be easy for him.

"No heathens today?" he asked, glancing suspiciously towards the other doorway as if he were worried they were about to be overtaken by teenagers.

"They went off for a ramble," Amelia explained. "I'm assuming they'll get lost and end up in Wales. It's character-building," she assured him, on his look.

"Do you think it's wise to let Potter walk off into the countryside with a group of teenagers?" he asked.

Amelia shrugged.

"No one knows he's here – if anyone's looking for him they'll be focussing on Sirius's house or the Dursleys'. Besides, if there's trouble, Fred or George can Apparate straight back here and raise the alarm." She paused, continuing sadly, "If things go the way they look like going, he's going to need some carefree memories to turn to. With any luck, this week they can just be kids for a while."

Severus grunted. "I suppose so," he said, grudgingly. Amelia got the impression that 'being a kid' hadn't been a big part of Severus's youth.

"Come and have a tour," she said, and practically dragged him around the house.

This being Severus, he didn't ooh and ahh, instead he merely looked faintly impressed at some parts and a little disparaging at others – particularly the turquoise bathroom. He knew better than to express an unpleasant opinion, however; it wasn't as if he had to live there, after all, and he knew from past experience that if he was needlessly mean, Amelia would simply hit him.

"Where's your husband?" he asked, admiring the walled garden from the window of one of the bedrooms. "Out for walkies?"

Amelia snorted. It had taken a long time for Severus and Remus to make their peace, and comments that would have, years ago, started a duel, were now taken with a lot more grace.

"I'll tell him you said that," Amelia warned him, smiling.

"I'll tell him you laughed."

"He went shopping with Bea," she chuckled. "I think he's more excited about having a proper stove to cook on than I realised. They said something about seeing if the British Heart Foundation had anything useful, too. They have a second-hand furniture shop in Oswestry."

"Yes, you seem to be a few chairs short of a dining room," Severus observed, as they wandered back downstairs together.

The few chairs that had been brought over from flat were clustered in the kitchen and none of them matched.

"We need another sofa, too, since we've decided that the back room needs one." She sighed, looking around the passage at the bottom of the stairs. "It's far too big for us, Severus. It's ridiculous."

Her friend gave her a slight smile and pointed out that since they were married now, society might expect their little family to begin to grow.

Amelia snorted. "It can expect anything it wants to," she told him, firmly. "But I've no intention of bringing an innocent into this world when we're heading straight into a war. It wouldn't be fair…"

She trailed off, surprised at how wistful she sounded. In all the chaos of the last few months, she hadn't given possible children the slightest thought at all.

"And they'd be a target," she continued, quietly. "Look at Neville – look at Harry."

"They were targeted for other reasons," Severus pointed out, sadly.

"I know they were," she said, rubbing his arm. She knew what it had cost him, to see Lily Potter lying dead in the ruins of her house. "But I can't imagine a Death Eater not killing a child if their parents defy them."

"No," said Severus, darkly. "And the two of you are nothing if not defiant."

They shared a sad look. Amelia had no doubt that he had seen just that, back in the last war; she was just as certain he would never tell her about it.

"Come on," she said, brushing those darker thoughts away as best she could. "You can help me start getting our books on the shelves."

"You can make me a cup of tea," he told her, and she swatted his arm, amused. "In this…"

He extracted a neatly wrapped package from his robes. It wasn't small, and not for the first time, Amelia found herself wondering whether he had a bottomless pocket in there somewhere, for travelling and emergencies, like Mary Poppins' carpet bag.

"You bought us a present?" she asked, surprised.

"I believe it's another tradition," he said, inclining his head. "You'll forgive me if I've not had much practice at these things, but –"

He stopped talking, surprised that Amelia had kissed his cheek.

"I should probably wait for Remus to get back," she said, "but if it's tea-related I suppose I could make an exception."

"Practical as ever, Miss Brown – sorry, _Mrs_ Lupin."

Amelia stuck her tongue out at him and carried the package to the coffee table in the book room, where they had put the squashy old sofa from the flat. Molly and Bea had made new covers for it, and it looked much happier under the big window. She applied herself to the wrapping paper around the box while Severus folded himself neatly onto a cushion at the end of the sofa.

"Ooh," said Amelia, appreciatively. "Severus, this is lovely – thank you!"

"Well, you know," he said, dismissively. "Tradition and such."

Amelia kissed him on the cheek again, and took the beautiful traditional Chinese teapot and cups into the kitchen to wash them and make a brew, leaving her usually pale friend's blush clashing horribly with the brightly coloured sofa cushions.

0o0

When Remus arrived, several hours later, Severus and Amelia had most of the books dusted and on the shelves – though not in any kind of order, because there's nothing worse for a book lover than having someone else organise your collection for you.

He clapped Severus on the back, admired the new teapot and cups and dragged them both outside to Bea's van, to help him carry quite a few second-hand chairs, a barely used sofa, a couple of chests of drawers and a broken (but entirely repairable) bed for the spare room into the house.

By the time they had everything roughly where it ought to go, stomachs were beginning to rumble, so Remus went to stick the oven on and retrieve the shopping.

"I thought we could try pizza," he said, dumping the bags on the table.

"Hmm," Severus grunted, eyeing the boxes unenthusiastically.

Pizza wasn't something the British wizarding community regularly encountered.

"Oh, come on Severus," Remus prodded, amused. "It's only food. Live a little."

"We can eat in the garden," Amelia suggested, blithely ignoring Severus's expression.

Someone knocked on the open front door and Amelia went to see who it was. She found Hazel, who had worked at the hospital until 4 a.m. that morning, admiring the new sign by the front door.

"That's rather good," she said, and gave her old friend a hug.

"Arthur Weasley made it for us. Isn't it pretty?"

"You're already considering replanting," Hazel guessed, with a smirk.

She knew her friend well.

"I come bearing gifts," she announced, and thrust a large, brightly wrapped package into Amelia's arms.

"Ooh," said Amelia, peeling off a corner. "Tea!"

"There's a few different kinds," Hazel told her. "I figure you can start up your shelf of teas again."

Amelia grinned; her tea collection had been legendary at university. On those dust-free, well-maintained, oft-perused shelves, there had been a tea for every occasion – like a library, but for beverages instead of books.

"Great minds think alike," said Amelia, thinking of their brand new Chinese tea set.

"Well, I may have had prior knowledge. Is… er…" Hazel paused for a moment, peering over Amelia's shoulder. "Severus wrote to say he was coming over…"

"And you wanted to know if you needed to brace yourself," Amelia guessed. She patted her friend's arm. "Yes, he's in the kitchen – complaining about pizza. Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Yes," she said, though she looked like really she meant 'no'. "It's not like we parted because we fell out or anything, he's just being noble – and sensible, if Remus's stories about the last war are to be believed."

"Hazel…"

"We're friends, Mel," she said, her voice firm. "If I'm going to see him at all while this stupid, bloody war is going on, then I'd better suck it up."

Amelia studied her old friend's expression; she recognised the mixture of ferocity and determination there. When Hazel made up her mind to do something it was a case of goggles and god help you. Sometimes, the lady was not for turning.

"Alright, my brave heart," said Amelia, and led the way to the kitchen.

"Hello Remus!" said Hazel, brightly, and proceeded to pretend that Severus's sudden coughing fit wasn't, in fact, happening. "I like the new sign – how are you settling in?"

"Pretty well, thanks!" he said, shutting the oven door and giving her a one armed hug with the potholder. "Should be set for you to move over from Bea's next week."

"Whenever," she said. "I have to say, suddenly moving back in with people after living alone for a while was a little galling at first, but Bea's out on the farm most of the time, and Hermione's pretty quiet for a teenager. Quieter than we were, anyway," she added, cheerfully nudging Amelia in the ribs. "But I'm really going to miss Bea's cooking."

Remus and Amelia laughed, but Severus turned away. Amelia guessed that he was busy blaming himself for Hazel having to partially abandon her life.

 _Well_ , she thought, _that will have to stop._

"Believe me," Amelia assured her. "Being in a different building will not stop her insistence on feeding everyone. I think she's liked having you around, to be honest."

Hazel smiled, but her eyes were on Severus's back. Remus shot his wife a helpless sort of look; Amelia gave a minute shrug. There wasn't really anything they could do – not yet, anyway.

"How've you been, Severus?" Hazel asked, and Amelia busied herself with putting away some more of the glasses in another part of the kitchen.

Remus appeared beside her, looking awkward and waving a box of glassware in her general direction. She heard one of his stray thoughts:

 _This is beyond uncomfortable._

Her husband met her eyes and Amelia wondered whether the thought had been all that stray, after all.

 _You've got that right,_ she thought back.

"Er… not bad," Severus said, awkwardly. "And yourself?"

"Yeah, well, you know… Busy at the hospital."

"Mmm."

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Remus wince. Conversation was tricky enough for Severus as it was.

"How was the exam season?" Hazel asked. "I heard about the conclusion of the Tournament."

"Yes," said Severus. "It went smoother than anyone could have expected, really. The exams, too – though we had the usual collection of extraordinarily stupid transcripts."

The tension eased a little as Severus recounted some of the more spectacular academic screw-ups, and Hazel couldn't help but laugh. Soon, all four of them were comparing moments of student or patient-based hilarity. The mood wasn't easy, but it was at least tolerable.

They carried their plates of pizza out into the sunshine and (to Severus's horror) sat down to eat on the lawn in the walled garden, between curved banks of flowers. Sitting with her friends and debating the merits of various pizza toppings in between laughing at Hazel's story about the man who got a lightbulb stuck in his mouth (you can get it in, but you can't get it out again*), it was easy to pretend that the world was a sane, safe place. With the scent of the summer blooms and the high, delightful sounds of birdsong in the trees, they could have been eating pizza in the Garden of Eden.

Maintaining an acceptable level of friendliness was clearly wearing on Severus and Hazel by the end of the meal and almost as soon as they finished eating, Severus slipped out of the back garden with Remus and went to inspect the stable block, presumably to advise his less adept friend about a potions laboratory.

Hazel sighed, heavily, her head slumping into her hands as soon as he was out of sight. "This _sucks_."

"I know," said Amelia, rubbing her back.

There wasn't really anything else she could say.

"Come on, I'll give you the ten penny tour and you can start planning where your furniture's going to go."

0o0

"What's that?" Amelia asked, taking the bottle of wine out of the fridge.

Hazel had headed back to work, night shifts being non-negotiable at the moment, and Severus had Flooed back to Spinner's End several hours before. Remus and Amelia had spent a pleasant few hours mending their second hand furniture and filling the chests of drawers up. They'd decided to stop when the sun had gone down, with the intention of enjoying a couple of glasses of wine in the garden.

"Just got an owl from Dumbledore," said Remus, showing her the letter. "There's a staff meeting on the sixth…" He trailed off.

"Remus?"

"He's coming to see us on Friday."

"What – here?" Amelia asked, surprised. "He's never done that before. Do you think everything's okay up at the school?"

"I hope so," said Remus, frowning. "I know the Ministry's putting some pressure on him."

After a rather disastrous series of public relations failures after the murder of Bartemius Crouch, the revelation that his son had escaped from Azkaban more than a decade before and the resurfacing of the darkest order of wizards the country had seen in a generation, the current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, had rather been feeling the heat from the public.

He had suppressed any mention of Voldemort's return that he could, mostly out of sheer terror. Because Dumbledore was publically trying to rally support for what amounted to an anti-Death Eater movement and wasn't afraid to tell people that yes, Voldemort was definitely back, Fudge was trying as hard as he could to discredit the headmaster. He was taking almost everything Dumbledore said as a personal affront, which meant that the school was under greater scrutiny than usual.

Harry, who had talked to the very sensible secretary of Witch Weekly, along with the other Triwizard Tournament Champions after the final, had been vocal in support of his headmaster (as had the others, to be fair) and because of the negative articles Rita Skeeter had penned about him earlier in the year it had been very easy for Fudge and his supporters to accuse him of grandstanding and attention-seeking.

It was ridiculous, and if Amelia let herself think about it for too long she gave herself a headache. She studied her husband's face, which was wrinkled with concern.

"You're worried he's going to ask you to step down again, aren't you," she guessed. "You know he'd never do that – even with all the extra publicity last year."

"I know," said Remus, trying to sound off-hand; Amelia knew him better than that.

She shook her head. "There's no use worrying about it now," she said, and he nodded.

"You're right," he admitted, and put an arm around her waist. "And even if he does, there's nothing I can do about it tonight." He kissed her hair. "Where would I be without you to steady me?"

"Living with Sirius in some kind of rerun of _The Likely Lads?_ "

There was a brief pause. "I'm going to pretend that I know what you're talking about right now."

Amelia laughed. "Grab the glasses," she told him, and strolled out into the garden.

She carried the wine and their current books to the old bench that was tucked into the lee of the wall just outside the farmhouse. It was sheltered from the wind, surrounded by drooping bunches of roses, fronds of wisteria and trailing honeysuckle vines. Amelia had put out a few candles and lanterns, and there was sufficient light from the window of the book room for them to read, even in the gathering darkness.

They curled up together on the bench, wrapped up in a brightly coloured blanket, and unwound – properly – for the first time in days. Resting against his warm body, she felt Remus relax as he got properly into his book. Too tired to read, Amelia simply lay back, enjoying his proximity, and turned her eyes to the stars.

In the quiet of the evening, with little else in her consciousness beyond her own and Remus's breathing, she gazed up at the ancient suns and wondered, if they were paying any attention at all, what they made of it all. She thought of all the trillions of people who had ever sat and stared at the stars.

So many lives, and so many problems.

Many of them must have seemed insurmountable at the time. There had been other wars, and other dilemmas; the world was still turning and the stars were still burning.

Feeling oddly comforted, Amelia closed her eyes and allowed herself to gently drift into a peaceful sleep.

0o0

*DO NOT TRY THIS AT HOME. I am not kidding. Genuine medical emergency, that one!


	4. Fair Warning

Remus paced the length of the passageway, discomfited.

Although he refused to admit it to Amelia, Dumbledore's impending visit had him very worried indeed. If he was going to lose his job…

A few years earlier, he would have been concerned about where his next meal would be coming from, and where the hell he would be sleeping next. Now that they had the cottage, those concerns were a little less imminent: he couldn't, for example, imagine Bea kicking them out. It wasn't like they were paying rent, as it was.

Food was less of a worry, too, because Amelia would presumably still be working, and her aunt had an unwavering habit of trying to feed people until they burst. He was in a much better position, financially, than he could ever remember being.

He wasn't even particularly worried about people wondering why he'd left at short notice. It was unlikely that anyone at Hogwarts would spread the truth of his condition around, and certainly none of them would treat Amelia any different because of it (a thought that sometimes haunted him on sleepless nights).

No, what was really bothering him was the thought that he might be spending a whole year away from his wife. He was stunned to discover that it was this fear, above all others, which paralysed him.

Even before they had been together as a couple their jobs at Hogwarts had meant that they saw one another several times every day; Remus had grown accustomed to her constant presence. He had missed her terribly in those few weeks she had spent digging the previous summer, and though he had hidden it from her, he'd battled with Apparating up to the site and surprising her almost every day. It was almost like she was an addiction.

It was strange: he'd spent a great deal of his adult life alone, but almost as soon Amelia had come into it he seemed to have lost the knack of living without company. It made him feel old and a little vulnerable, and he wasn't fond of that. Amelia wouldn't approve of such thoughts, but that didn't stop him thinking them.

He would never ask her to give up her job for him, but the idea of spending the next teaching year at the other side of the country to her made his palms sweat.

He had a feeling that Amelia knew perfectly well how edgy he felt, and had the good grace to give him some space. She was over at Bea's discussing the best tactic for covering a second lot of sofa cushions for the sitting room. He didn't want her to worry, so he was focussing all his anxiety into pacing up and down in the coolest part of the house – which also happened to be the least visible from the outside.

He heard the unmistakeable crack of an Apparation and turned on his heel, forcing himself to be calm and cheerful. Dumbledore was examining the white and yellow roses which tumbled around the gazebo thing in the middle of the herb garden, a look of genuine pleasure on his face. As it always had, the headmaster's presence made Remus feel instantly more secure.

"Hullo," he called, from among the blooms. "Lovely garden you have here, Remus!"

Remus smiled. "Nothing to do with me," he said, his hands in his pockets. "Resident green thumb, I'm happy to say."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You never did like Herbology all that much, as I recall," he said, electric blue eyes twinkling.

"Well, no," Remus admitted. "Being in the same room as Sirius, James and various dangerous or combative flora wasn't my favourite way to spend an afternoon."

"The Tentacula?" Dumbledore recalled, with a smile.

Remus chuckled, feeling a slight flush in his cheeks. "I was rather hoping no one would remember that particular incident…"

"Remus," the Headmaster chuckled, "you should know by now, teachers never forget things like that. They make the working week go faster!"

Both of them looked up at the sound of a latch opening; Amelia's head appeared in Bea's living room window. "Ahoy there! I'll be out in a minute!"

She vanished again, and Remus had a momentary vision of her picking her way through a living room littered with fabric scraps and plans for cushions. He turned back to find his Headmaster watching him, amused.

"That witch is good for you," he said, quietly, and patted him lightly on the back. "You should keep a hold of her."

"I know," Remus agreed, as his wife appeared out of Bea's front door, wearing muggle clothes and surrounded by flowers, like some kind of modern nymph. "I fully intend to."

"Albus," said Amelia, with a nod.

He shook her hand. Like Remus, Amelia had always been a little too awed to use his first name; that had changed in the latter part of the last school year, when she had realised just how far the man was prepared to go in order to trap Voldemort's followers. While she understood the stakes, there were lines that Amelia was not prepared to cross: namely, using fourteen year olds with no sensible guardians as bait.

Knowingly putting his best friend's son in danger made Remus uncomfortable, too, but he had lived through a war that Amelia had only just found out about. Putting Harry under a little more risk seemed acceptable, as long as doing so stood a chance of preventing everyone they cared about being drawn into another conflict. It worried him a little that his ideals (which had always been much the same as Amelia's) had become so diluted – but then, it was hardly surprising, given how many friends he had lost.

His faith in the man had been badly shaken when Dumbledore had asked Amelia to risk her mind getting information out of Bartemius Crouch, who had gone insane trying to resist the Imperius curse for months on end. It was difficult to imagine Dumbledore asking someone to take a risk without a good reason, though, and they were likely heading into another war, so Remus had made his peace with those concerns – as Amelia seemed to have. If anyone could get them through the coming storm, Dumbledore could.

"Amelia! I was just admiring your garden," Dumbledore twinkled at her as she came to join her husband, stepping lightly along the path between the herbs. "You could supply an apothecary with these!"

"Thanks! Severus said something similar the other day – he was eyeing my herb patch up," she grinned, slipping an arm around Remus's waist. "He even gave me a list of things to ask Pomona about."

"Cunning as a fox, that one. Soon he'll have exclusive access to a new supplier," Remus observed, amused. "Come inside and have a cup of tea."

After a brief tour and some organisation in the kitchen, they settled in the dining room (now complete with chairs) and got down to business. It was odd to see Dumbledore in such a different setting; Remus had become used to seeing people at Pear Tree Farm in predominantly muggle clothes – he himself hadn't worn robes since the start of the summer holidays. Dumbledore's muted, sage green robes, long white beard and Turkish wizards' hat was a little bit of a shock, but oddly enough it didn't look remotely out of place in the oak beamed cottage.

He took this as a good sign.

The Headmaster, with typical chaotic topicality, was regaling them with an anecdote about a recent trip he, Minerva McGonagall, Pomona Sprout, Poppy Pomfrey and Filius Flitwick had taken to Cornwall. The thought of their colleagues enjoying a day by the seaside, trying enthusiastically and inaccurately to blend in with everyone else, was greatly entertaining. Remus was resting his chin on his hand, trying not to laugh.

Amelia had given up all pretence entirely and was wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. Dumbledore didn't seem to have noticed.

"Of course, the ice cream was particularly delicious without the Brussels sprouts, but I still think it would have added something, whatever that young lass in the ice-cream parlour thought."

"They're kind of out of season," Amelia told him, calming down a little.

"Well, yes," said the Headmaster, quite seriously. "But I have it on reasonably good authority that muggles grow strawberries all year round – why shouldn't the same be true of sprouts?"

"You have a point," she admitted, with a glance at Remus that warmed his heart. "What did you want to talk to us about?"

Remus forced himself not to wince; he had been vainly hoping that Dumbledore would forget whatever it was he'd come to talk to them about in the usual course of his eclectic conversation. That was the trouble with a great mind – it was difficult to convince it to stay still.

Dumbledore's face became serious at once.

"I wanted to catch you before our general meeting," he explained, and Remus felt his heart deflate. "After the disastrous revelations about Crouch, the Ministry has been making an effort to exert greater control at Hogwarts."

Amelia frowned, immediately more sober.

"In what way?" Remus asked, carefully.

"They have informed me that from now on, one of my staff must be appointed by the Ministry, as a sort of monitor of the curriculum," he said, slowly.

"So they can make sure we're not spreading 'unsupported lies' about Voldemort," Amelia guessed.

Remus nodded; they had been reading the Daily Prophet together of late, and some of the crap they were printing made Remus want to go and sit in a dark, quiet room for a little while, so he didn't hunt the journalists down and eat them.

"Quite so." Dumbledore looked momentarily annoyed – which was probably the angriest Remus had ever seen him since Sirius had tried to feed Severus to him on a full moon when they were kids. Unless he felt it would leave a lasting, educational impression on a student, Dumbledore tended to keep his strongest emotions private. "Since we made room in the staff for Alastor last year – although, of course, it turned out not to be him in the end – I've been informed rather forcefully that we must do the same again."

Remus nodded, following the direction of his thoughts. "You need me to take a step back," he guessed, ignoring the dark look that had passed across his wife's face.

Dumbledore sighed, heavily. "Believe me, Remus, if I could do this any other way –"

"I know," he nodded, though his heart felt heavier than before.

Beneath the table, Amelia gently took his hand in hers. He squeezed her fingers, grateful for the contact, keeping him steady – and that as unhappy she was about the situation, she was also keeping her mouth shut.

"The arrangement will be similar to last year," the Headmaster explained. "You will take the dangerous creatures portion of the course, while the Ministry appointed staff member will teach defence against human assailants. I have managed to convince them that you ought to handle curses, too."

"Why?" asked Amelia, shrewdly, as Remus wondered the same thing.

To his surprise, Dumbledore looked very slightly shifty. "I have a suspicion," he said, slowly, "based on the current official line that there is no danger at all, that some issues may arise in terms of the curriculum."

"There's a curriculum?" Amelia asked, her face admirably straight.

To his credit, Dumbledore laughed; Remus joined him. The slightest of smiles crept onto Amelia's face.

"I'll admit that generally each teacher is allowed a certain latitude with the topics they cover," he allowed, still chuckling, "but the senior staff and I do try to make sure that the foundations of each course are sound."

Amelia put her head to one side. "You've been having this conversation a lot recently, haven't you?" she guessed.

Dumbledore twinkled at her for a moment, but chose not to answer. "In any case, I would prefer you to teach our students to recognise and defend against curses, and anything else you feel might benefit the students."

He was selecting his words very deliberately, and Remus chose to interpret this as, 'anything that the Ministry-approved teacher refuses to teach'.

"Of course," he agreed.

"It may become necessary to approach certain aspects from an oblique angle," Dumbledore continued, carefully.

"You're asking me to try to conceal teaching our students common sense and defence," Remus translated, with a frown.

"Better to teach them something without them realising it, than not to teach it at all," said Dumbledore, pointedly.

Beside him, Remus felt his wife sit back, thoughtfully; he glanced at her face. She was watching their Headmaster intently, probably trying to work out exactly what the next school year was going to be like for her students.

"We still have control over our own –" she flashed a smile "– curricula, yes?"

"Indeed," said Dumbledore, steepling his fingers.

"Then I can legitimately continue to subversively educate the future of the Wizarding World with critical thinking and equality," she said, simply.

"Fortunately," said Dumbledore, with a broad smile. "I have become temporarily deaf and have no idea what you may have been suggesting. I do, however, wholeheartedly agree."

"Will the Ministry advocate be putting a stop to our movie nights?" she asked. There was a note in her voice which suggested she was up to something there, too.

"No – it's not a part of teaching, it's a leisure activity. While I am still Headmaster, they will continue unmolested. I think it gives the students a window into a world that they often overlook," he said, quite seriously.

"Oh, good," said Amelia, with a wicked smile.

Probably deciding that what he didn't know about, he couldn't be compelled to prevent, the Headmaster turned back to Remus.

"For reasons that will shortly become obvious, Hagrid will be unavailable for teaching for at least the first month of term – perhaps more," he said; Remus shared a glance with Amelia. They both knew Dumbledore well enough not to ask – yet. "Until he returns, would you be prepared to cover his Care of Magical Creatures classes on top of your own?"

"Absolutely," said Remus, at once.

For one thing, there was already a certain amount of overlap between his and Hagrid's areas of expertise. For another, he had already taught part of the Care of Magical Creatures course the previous year, when Hagrid had been brung low by Rita Skeeter and her poison pen. Thus, he knew roughly where each year's worth of students ought to be, and where they ought to be aiming.

"Thank you, Remus," said Dumbledore, bowing his head solemnly. He heaved another sigh, and Remus wondered at how much energy the old man had in the face of these new complications. "I fear this year may prove to be awkward for you," he said, sadly. Remus bit his lip as the old wizard continued, "Forgive me, but I must know – does the Ministry know of your condition?"

He swallowed, and glanced at Amelia, who was now staring at him in incomprehension. "I don't think so," he said, and cleared his throat, which was oddly tight.

"I thought the Ministry kept a register of…" Amelia's voice faltered; Remus couldn't bring himself to meet her gaze. "A register," she finished, awkwardly.

"They do." Dumbledore inclined his head.

Remus coughed. "I – er…" he frowned again. He had thought this would be easier now that Amelia knew about the darker parts of his world, but it wasn't. He felt like he was letting her down, somehow. "They only add a name to the register when someone crosses the law." He hesitated before continuing. "There's a – er – convenient assumption that since lycanthropy is inherently evil –"

Amelia scoffed, which made him stumble over his words a little.

"Inherently evil, then every werewolf will break the law – sooner, rather than later. So they don't bother to record anyone who isn't a criminal – and I've never broken the law." He gave a hollow laugh. "Not for lack of trying on Sirius's part, but there you are."

There was a long pause.

"Just when I think I've plumbed the depths of stupidity of our world, I find a new layer," Amelia said, sourly. "For gods' sake – leaving aside the fact that werewolves are no threat to anyone who isn't trying to attack them, particularly when it isn't bloody full moon – what manner of registration system leaves itself so open?"

Remus, who as a teenager had taken this realisation as one of the few small mercies open to him, gave a half-hearted shrug, staring at the grain of the wood in the table.

"It genuinely worries me that the only time the Ministry of Magic appears to be capable of kindness or common sense it's entirely by accident."

Although he couldn't see her, Remus could well imagine her cross expression and pursed lips, and he loved her for it.

"It might be just as well for now if the Ministry's representative doesn't find out about you," said Dumbledore, gently. "Of course, it may mean some trouble for you, down the line."

"I'll do what I have to," said Remus, meeting his Headmaster's eyes with a steady gaze. "All they can really do to me is complain that I didn't tell them, but since there's no requirement to, they won't have a leg to stand on. It's not like I'll have a job to lose by that point anyway."

Beside him, Amelia shifted uneasily.

"It may not come to that," said Dumbledore. "But I wanted to make sure that you were aware of the risk."

"Well," he replied, with false cheer, "someone's got to keep an eye on Harry and Hermione and their friends." Finally, he made himself face his wife, who looked supremely annoyed with almost the entire world. "I'm not going to let someone from the Ministry scare me away. I love teaching, and if I can help my students protect themselves, I will – the Ministry be hanged!"

He hadn't intended it to come out quite the way it had, but something of his ferocity had made Amelia smile again, at least.

"Of course you're not, you daft old thing," she said, matter of factly. "That's why I married you."


	5. Getting the Band Back Together

Amelia had gone to the kitchen to make a second round of tea (and probably to calm down), leaving Dumbledore and Remus to their own devices. After their rather uncomfortable conversation, neither of them had a great deal to say; it was unusually awkward.

"You have a beautiful home here," Dumbledore observed, after a long silence.

Remus joined him at the window, looking out over the herbs and Bea's farmhouse. From here, you could see out past the garage where Bea usually parked her van and over to the site office of the orchard in the land beyond the road. He watched as one of the farm workers strolled between the trees, inspecting the crop.

"It's Amelia's home, really," he said. "I'm just happy that she wants me around."

The Headmaster gave him a long look. "You have to stop that, Remus," Albus told him, quietly. "She loves you. It's written in everything she does. You can't keep living as if you expect her to leave."

"I know," he said, rubbing a frustrated hand over his face. "And I love her. I can't imagine life without her – I don't want to… but I can't help thinking that this is all too good to last."

Dumbledore stayed silent for a moment, and Remus held his breath. He hadn't shared these fears with anyone, though he suspected that Sirius had an idea (and probably Amelia, too). He was incredibly happy here, with Amelia and her family, but he had been happy before the last war, too.

After it, he had wondered why it was that he had to carry on living while everyone he loved was dead. There had been many occasions when he had longed to follow them, and had even gone so far as to consider how, but he had been too afraid.

After everything he had been through, it had – in his mind – confirmed what he had always suspected: that he was, inescapably and inarguably, a coward.

When Amelia had come into his life, she had made him believe that he might have been wrong. The horrible, haunting moment when she had read Barty Crouch's broken mind and he thought he might have lost her had brought forth those fears once more. It made him feel old, and lost.

"I just don't think I could bear to have it all taken away," he said, his voice barely louder than a whisper.

"Then you must fight for it," murmured the headmaster.

A sudden sound made Remus jump. Amelia had set the refilled teapot down on the mat on the dining table and was leaning nonchalantly against the mantelpiece, her expression carefully blank.

"Ah, more tea," Dumbledore declared, with relish. "Which flavour is it this time?"

"China Rose," said Amelia, smiling at their Headmaster.

Remus watched her as she explained the history of a tea that tasted very faintly like Turkish Delight. Her body language was just slightly _too_ natural for him to believe that she hadn't heard some or all of his discussion with Dumbledore. Apprehensive now, he took his seat at the table again.

"I hope you're intending to bring some of these back to the school with you," Dumbledore said, happily inhaling rose scented fumes. "They make a delightful change from our usual fare. I was just saying to Remus," he continued, with a nod in Remus's direction, "you have a lovely home here."

"Thank you, Albus," Amelia said, and meant it. She, too, glanced in Remus's direction; he forced a smile. "My Uncle did our family history when Hermione and I were little – as far as he could tell, there have been members of our family farming on this land as far back as there are records. Probably earlier," she grinned. "It doesn't matter how far we travel, we always end up back here, somehow or other. I'd always expected to be the one to buck the trend, but…"

She shrugged, affably, and Dumbledore chuckled.

"It's a pleasant place to find yourself drawn back to," he remarked, and Amelia agreed.

Remus glanced at her, surprised to find her hand resting comfortably on his thigh. He took it, still feeling uncertain.

"Have you considered defences?"

"Arthur and Sirius helped us out with the charms to make it Unplottable," said Remus.

"It's a little tricky with Bea's business," Amelia admitted. "The site office and such aren't Unplottable, or she'd have to shut everything down. A lot of good lads work for her and we don't want to turf them out – not when work's so hard to come by as it is."

Dumbledore nodded. "Good." He shook his head, amused. "I thought, of everyone, the two of you would be the most prepared."

"Well, I do teach Defence Against the Dark Arts," Remus remarked. "It would be pretty remiss of me not to act on it in my daily life. Besides, Amelia's stubborn."

He was trying to make her laugh, but Amelia's eyes had narrowed slightly. "Everyone who?" she asked, shrewdly.

Dumbledore smiled and inclined his head. "Tell me, Amelia, has Remus ever told you what he did in the last war?"

"Bits and pieces," Amelia said, giving Remus's thigh a squeeze. "I know there was some kind of resistance and he and his friends were a part of it. It always makes me think of _Star Wars_ ," she added, with a small smile.

 _These are not the wizards you are looking for_ , Remus thought, feeling oddly comforted that Amelia could take everything in her stride, and ran his thumb over the back of her hand.

"Those were dark times," he said, thinking back to one of the first conversations he'd had with his wife, about Hogwarts' defences.

"They may become dark again," said Dumbledore.

"Why do I feel like you're about to announce that you're getting the band back together?" Amelia deadpanned.

The corners of Remus's mouth turned upwards. As serious as the conversation was, it wasn't as if he and Amelia hadn't been expecting something of this ilk.

"You're referring, perhaps, to the muggle film, _The Blues Brothers_?" Dumbledore asked, twinkling.

It was Amelia's turn to smile indulgently. "I'm glad to see that my teaching is having an impact," she said, and her smile turned into more of a smirk.

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "I have been contacting some of our old friends with a view to reinstating the Order. I think it's fair to say that we may soon be facing the same threat we saw back then."

"Only this time, half the population doesn't believe there _is_ a danger," Remus huffed.

 _The Daily Prophet_ had been seriously irritating him of late.

"They're afraid," his wife observed, sadly. "They don't want to believe that the man they'd consigned to their nightmares is real."

"Yes, and in the meantime, he and his supporters are consolidating their position, ready to pick up where they left off last time. Stronger, even!" Remus complained, unhappily.

Dumbledore nodded. "Which is why it is more important than ever to gather together people we know we can trust. Alastor is recruiting one or two of his colleagues in the Auror office, and Arthur is keeping an eye on things from the Ministry." His voice was deadly serious, and seemed utterly out of character in the bright, cheerful room. "Can I count on the two of you?"

"Of course you can," said Amelia, at exactly the same time as her husband said, "Yes."

They met one another's eyes, grim smiles tugging at their lips.

"Excellent. I thought as much." Dumbledore sat back, satisfied. "I have spoken to Sirius, and he has offered us an unlikely location for us to base our meetings and use as a safe house. He seemed rather enthusiastic about it, in fact."

"Oh no, really?" Remus grimaced; there was only one property Sirius would be ecstatic about handing over, and based on Sirius's vivid descriptions at school he had no wish to ever go there.

0o0

They had seen Dumbledore off in the early afternoon and Remus had immediately retired into the book room to start alphabetising the fiction and separating out the non-fiction from the books he had brought into their home. It was methodical, pleasing work and it allowed him to think over Dumbledore's plans for the Order.

And avoid Amelia.

He heard her come in as the afternoon was beginning to turn towards evening, presumably bringing bundles of cloth and patterns over from Bea's. He heard her walk into the dining room and deposit her imagined burden on the table in there, before her footfalls crossed from wood to stone.

Remus picked up another book from the jumble on the unsorted shelves and turned it over, gazing blindly at the writing on the back cover. It could have been written in hieroglyphics for all that he was taking in. His mind was totally focussed on his wife's footsteps, which stopped just inside the door. For a moment, he simply listened to the sounds of her, memorising them in case the opportunity never presented itself again. Her heartbeat was steady and calm, and he could hear the way her skin brushed against her jeans and shirt as she folded her arms.

He turned to find her leaning against the stone arch, watching him speculatively.

Remus inhaled as if to speak, but lost his nerve; he frowned down at the book instead.

"You have to stop doing this," she said, quietly.

"Organising the books?" he asked, a half-hearted attempt at a joke. Amelia ignored him.

"I'm not going anywhere, as long as I can help it," she told him. "I love you, and that's not going to change."

"I know," he replied. "I know. I just – I love you so much, Mel, and I'm so happy here with you. I'm… hah." He looked away and had to clear his throat. "I just don't want it to end."

He looked up when he felt her hand on his arm, warm and solid. He reached up to take her fingers in his.

"Neither of us is going to live forever," she said softly. "We can't change that."

His mouth formed the words of 'I know', but no actual sound came out. The thought of waking up without her was doing painful things to his chest.

"But we can't live life based on what _might_ happen, or what's going to happen someday. You never know what's coming in the future." She gave a light laugh. "I mean, a couple of years ago I didn't even know about magic, and now look at me – I'm teaching in a school where 'Here be Dragons' is occasionally quite a literal map reference, married to one of the kindest, bravest men I've ever met." She paused. "Even if he does keep insisting on clinging to the illusion that he's not."

He made to interrupt her, but she stopped him.

"Either of us might die at any time. Looking at the Universe as a whole it's inherently ridiculous that we're even alive. I could walk into town tomorrow and get knocked down by a car – hell, the next time you transform something might go wrong and give you a heart attack. God knows it crosses my mind from time to time."

"Mel…" he began, feeling wretched for her, but she cut across him again.

"We have to live life for what it is right now, Remus," she said. "It's that simple."

He took her in for a moment: there was something fierce in her eyes that made him think he could be brave for her. She must have seen the change in his way of thinking on his face, because her expression softened.

"And right now, I want to go through all these books with my husband," she said, rubbing his arm.

He cleared his throat again, looking past her so as not to let his emotions overwhelm him. "Yeah?" he asked.

"Yeah."

She moved away and flicked the tiny, battered CD player she had kept since her youth on. Remus chuckled as the overture of Gilbert and Sullivan's _The Mikado_ began to play.

"Mel," he said, as she made to start sorting the books he thought of as hers. He caught her arm and pulled her into a tight embrace. "Thanks."

0o0

"This is going to be a weird, weird day," Remus remarked, as they stepped out of the lift and walked out into the midday crowd.

"It does feel rather like we've accidentally joined a cult or something," Amelia reflected. "Clandestine meetings, a secret hideout. It's like something out of _The Hardy Boys_ , or a Stephen King novel." She clicked her tongue against her teeth. "If there wasn't a war on, it would be funny."

Remus nodded, scanning the crowd.

Covent Garden in the middle of the day was vibrant and busy. Tourists, traders and street performers swarmed around the hot pavilion, milling in and out of shops and around the stalls that were the descendants of a sprawling Victorian market. There weren't any flowers anymore, but the brightly coloured clothes of the people looked like petals in the late June sun.

Amelia smiled. As a rule she wasn't fond of cities, being inclined to smaller groups and villages, but there was something of the village about London. She had read once that lifelong Londoners spent the majority of their lives working, eating, making friends and starting families in the same four or five streets. Little familial neighbourhoods of friends and family, all squashed up together in a conurbation of millions.

It lent a sort of friendly anonymity to the place – assuming that you kept your 'London head' engaged, so as not to get mown down by the determined perambulation of the natives.

Remus slipped an arm around her waist, and she felt the strange thrum of alertness pass through him; it wasn't anxiety, as such – more a heightened awareness of his surroundings.

"Alright?" she asked, with a sunnier disposition than she currently felt.

"As far as I know," he said, softly. "First crowd since…"

 _Since we kind of formally admitted we were at war by joining a mysterious guerrilla resistance group._

"Mmm."

She surveyed the people around them, trying to make it look casual. Most of them were either hurrying towards wherever they needed to go, or else soaking up the pseudo-bohemian ambience. One or two were doing the sort of facial see-a-scar-recoil-pretend-you're-not-recoiling-look-away-before-they-see-you dance that Remus didn't even acknowledge anymore, but which still irritated her.

Amelia thought her husband was a handsome devil, and felt that anyone who couldn't see that needed their eyes checking.

"Come on," she said, deciding that they probably weren't being followed (and even if they were, no one would try anything here). "Let's nip into _The Naked Marshmallow_ and get some vital supplies."

0o0

An hour later, Amelia peered up at the dark avised houses on Grimmauld Place, frowning. She counted the numbers of the houses for a third time: they went from eleven to thirteen with no interruption – and they were pressed so close together that the possibility of a house set back from the main row, or perhaps a door to a subterranean dwelling were out of the question. There were occasional breaks in the brickwork, but the original architects seemed to have built as physically close to their neighbours as physically possible without ever actually touching.

She looked at her husband, who was leaning against the railings to a small, leafy park with his arms folded, humming the top line from _Three Little Girls_. He was also smirking at her.

Rolling her eyes, she turned back and had another look – this time ignoring the numbers and focussing on the brickwork. The whole row must have been built at roughly the same time, in the attractive Georgian mix of dark yellow stone and white quoined edges. Now, though, the grime of the city had intruded, staining the brickwork a dark, charcoal grey. They were rather foreboding. At the end of the row, a house had several windows broken; paint was peeling from several of the doors and heaps of rubbish lay outside a few of the entrances.

They could have been utterly bereft of character, but some of the residents were fighting back. The houses ran several storeys high, with steps up to the front door and more down to a basement area; almost every one of them had well-kept flowerboxes overflowing with surfinias, begonias, geraniums and ivy. Whoever lived at number eleven had gone down the urban gardening route and had grown herbs, vegetables and fruit in their window boxes. Tendrils of strawberry plant hung down beside their front door, joined by bunches of fat tomatoes, tantalisingly out of reach.

Her attention on the tomatoes, something tugged at her out of the corner of her eye. She tried to look directly at it, but it vanished like smoke. Aware that there really _should_ be a property where the meeting was to take place that afternoon, she looked back at the tomatoes, deciding to treat the missing house problem as a magic eye puzzle.

There it was again, at the very corner of her eye: an instinctive wrongness, like a smudge on the surface of the world.

"Huh," she said, as the smudge became more of a shadow – amorphous and indistinct, but still definitely there.

Remus detached himself from the railings and came to stand beside her. "You can see it, can't you?" he asked, sounding surprised.

"Not entirely," she admitted. "It's more like seeing that something should be there and isn't."

"I can see that you'll be one to watch, Mrs Lupin," someone growled.

They both jumped, hands flying to where their wands were concealed. Mad Eye Moody stepped out of the shade of one of the trees in the part and made his way to the front gate. Amelia rolled her eyes at Remus as they relaxed. An ex-Auror, Alastor Moody had always been somewhere on the PTSD spectrum, prone to sudden outbursts of paranoia and regular exhortations to maintain a state of constant vigilance. None of this had been helped by being abducted and locked in a trunk for a year.

He was a gnarly man of indeterminate age (Amelia would have guessed at somewhere between fifty and seventy), with a bit of the rugged look of Clint Eastwood – or at least, Clint Eastwood on a particularly bad day. At some point, he had lost an eye in the course of duty, leaving a deep, jagged scar down the left side of his face; it had been replaced by a magical one of deeply unsettling electric blue, which raced around in its socket at high speed.

Amelia was reasonably sure that he could see through certain things, but detailed discussions with her husband suggested that clothes were not one of them. It made him marginally less creepy.

"I shall take that as a compliment," she said, as Moody's wooden leg clanked towards them over the hot pavement.

He was about the least camouflaged man in the history of time, which she found more endearing than she felt she should.

"As it was intended," he told her, gruffly.

To her surprise, he held out a hand for her to shake. Amelia hesitated; on the one occasion she had met him prior to his abduction, he had refused to shake anyone's hand. Deciding that he was either testing her abilities or affording her a rare privilege, she took it, and was unsurprised to encounter calloused skin.

Nothing flashed in her mind – it generally didn't these days, unless she wanted it to, her time at Hogwarts affording her some measure of control over her ability. There were a few people whom she couldn't read at all, like Dumbledore and Snape, probably because they were skilled Occulomens (even now she thought of them as Jedis). Now, she wondered whether Moody was, too.

"I hear I have the two of you to thank for unmasking Barty Crouch Junior," he barked, and shook Remus's hand, too. "It's not often something I have the opportunity to say, but thank you."

"Always and ever welcome," Remus said, clearly happy to see his old comrade in arms back in reasonable health.

"I'm just sorry we didn't spot it earlier," Amelia apologised.

Moody grunted. "From what Albus and Minerva have told me, there was a lot going on." He squinted at Amelia. "What can you see, by the way?"

She glanced back at the houses across the road, where Remus had told her stood the house that Sirius had been brought up in. The security measures had already been put in place.

"Nothing – if I look at it directly," she told him. "There's a sort of… smudge? But only right in the corner of my eye."

Moody gave her a speculative sort of look, his magical eye boring into her head. It made her wonder.

"What can you see?" she asked.

"Nothing at all," he said. "The house is just not there – as it shouldn't be, with a Secret Keeper in place."

"Well," said Remus, after a moment of awkward silence. "It's a good job you've decided to use your superpowers for good instead of evil."

"Could come in handy," Moody grunted.

Amelia felt flattered, and said so.

"You're in a more cheerful mood than usual," said Minerva McGonagall, striding down the street towards them. Albus Dumbledore was trailing a few feet behind her, happily studying the vertical garden at number eleven.

It was a wonder, really, that the man didn't fall over his own feet.

"Try being locked in an oubliette for eight and a half months," Moody growled. "After that, every day above ground makes you happy."

"Hello Minerva," said Remus, affably. "Good summer so far?"

"Quite satisfactory, thank you," she replied, giving him a thin-lipped smile. "Though more of it has been spent working than I had envisioned."

Amelia and Remus chuckled, guessing that she was referring to the secret cabal they were about to be inducted into.

"Alas, not even the summer is sacred anymore," lamented Dumbledore. "Remus, Amelia, I must inform you –" he dropped his voice to a whisper; they had to lean in just to hear him. "That the headquarters of the _Order of the Phoenix_ are at twelve, Grimmauld Place, London."

There was a curious prickling sensation behind her eyes, like someone had blown pepper into her face; she even reached up a hand to make sure someone hadn't (Sirius was supposed to be around here somewhere, after all). When she brought it down again, the smudge at the edge of her vision was gone.


	6. Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place

Where before there had been a sort of empty space in her mind, a particularly horrible example of local architecture now stood, looking like it had always been there. For a moment, she wondered why she hadn't noticed a gap between the neighbouring houses. The map-makers and surveyors must have had a nightmare with this road. Not to mention anyone trying to lay a pipe.

 _Now you see it, now you don't_ , thought Amelia, gazing uncertainly up at the hooded, shadowy windows.

The front door was particularly battered. It was set quite deeply in the grimy walls, with a broken sconce for a torch beside it. There was no keyhole or letterbox, and the doorknocker was a twisted silver serpent. It looked like nobody had lived there in years. From what Remus had said about Sirius's mother, they probably hadn't.

It looked more like a haunted house than any other structure she had ever seen.

"I wish you wouldn't do that outside," Moody grumbled, darkly. "You never know who might be listening."

"Alastor, of the five of us, four of us have battle experience, three of us have spent much of our lives paying attention to who is monitoring us, one of us can read minds and – if you'll excuse me, Remus -"

He inclined his head in Minerva's direction, graciously.

"One of us can hear what is on the radio in the back room of the house on the other side of the park."

"Radio four – they're listening to a play." Remus confirmed, with a tilt of his head, making Amelia laugh.

"That doesn't mean we should let down our guard!" Moody barked. "Constant vigilance should be our watch-word!"

"That's two words," Amelia pointed out, helpfully. Remus nudged her in the ribs.

"I think, for the moment," said Dumbledore, shutting the conversation down, "we might feel fairly confident that we are not being followed. Shall we?"

They walked across the road, Dumbledore leading the way up the worn stone steps.

"This is the last time we should enter this way en-masse," Minerva said. "I think most people ought to arrive one at a time."

"Very wise," said Moody. "We must set down security regulations."

"Which we can do when everyone arrives," said Dumbledore, with an air of finality. "First, though, we must ensure that the house is safe to receive visitors. Sirius is meeting us inside – since he is the only one of us who has been here before, he offered to Apparate in."

"Testing whether or not there are Apparation based curses," Remus murmured, close to her ear.

He got out his wand; Amelia followed suit, aware that everyone was suddenly more focussed. "Are we expecting trouble?" she asked.

"Sirius's mother lived in that house until she died," said Remus. "She was a particularly unpleasant woman."

"Be ready," growled Moody, as Dumbledore tapped his wand lightly on the front door.

A series of loud, metallic clicks sounded from somewhere behind it, suggesting that rather a lot of serious locks had just been unlocked. Finally, a chain clattered out of its holder and the door creaked open.

"One day," Amelia murmured, "I'm going to teach wizards about keys."

Remus coughed, suggesting that he was trying not to laugh.

The five of them slowly advanced up the remainder of the aged steps and into a dark, dusty hall. They couldn't see a great deal, but other senses engaged right away. Remus immediately backed right out of the hall, gagging at the sour, musty smell of decay. The odour had a strongly developed sort of flavour to it, with sweeter, rancid notes that invaded the brain and made it impossible to concentrate on anything other than the cacophony of unpleasant scents.

Amelia covered her mouth with her hand as her husband reappeared, gritting his teeth.

Clearly, Sirius's mother had been dead for some time – nobody alive had been here for years.

Something scuttled urgently along the inside of the wall beside them and Amelia amended her mental assessment to 'nobody human'. Quietly, they lit their wands and closed the front door, an island of light in the murk.

"Didn't they think of installing windows?" Remus complained, under his breath.

"Victorian build," Amelia suggested. "They liked things dark and cosy – if there's any logic to this place there ought to be a light switch around here somewhere. Sirius's family strike me as wealthy enough to want gaslights, rather than torches…"

She ran her hand cautiously along the wall, trying not to freak out when a blanket of cobweb closed over her arm.

"I don't wish to alarm anyone," she whispered, "but there's a hell of a lot of cobweb here. Are we sure Mrs Black didn't keep any pets?"

"She wasn't a pet kind of woman, as I recall," Minerva replied, softly.

"She _was_ a leave deadly traps for people kind of woman," Moody reminded them. "Keep your wits about you."

"Hah," Amelia breathed, as she pushed the great gob of web aside and found an old-fashioned gas light switch. "Well, if this is still connected…"

She turned the dial slowly, hearing the faint click in the wall that signalled ignition. There was a quiet hiss and a series of small whooshes; along the hall several gas lamps lit, giving out a dim light that didn't help a great deal.

Minerva made a noise of faint disgust. Before them, the entire corridor was a tangle of cobweb, stretching wall to wall and floor to ceiling. The lamps hung eerily on the wall, like orbs in a fog. Moody crouched down.

"There's something living here," he said, and pointed. A few feet in front of them was a short gap in the web, leading into a kind of workman's tunnel. It ran to every door, up the stairs and off along the corridor.

"Some _one_ ," Remus corrected, in an undertone.

"House Elf?" asked Dumbledore, shrewdly.

Remus nodded. "He smells pretty decayed, too. I think he's upstairs – but he knows we're here," he told them.

"Anything else in here?" Moody grunted.

Remus thought for a moment, his nostrils twitching. "A few Doxies… probably a Boggart or two. Nothing that's an immediate threat," he said. "Though from what I remember, Kreacher wasn't the pleasantest House Elf – if he thinks we're here without permission he'll do his best to defend his mistress's house."

"I believe Sirius has informed Kreacher that we would be arriving," said Minerva, eyeing up the dusty cobwebs with distaste.

"Ah, then these are probably his formal protest at our presence," said Remus. "Or the first wave of it, at least."

"Well," said Dumbledore. "I think we can afford a little less obstruction."

He raised his wand to dispel the cobwebs, but before he could, all hell broke loose: an almighty crack resounded a few feet in front of the gathered wizards, right in the middle of the cobweb maze. There was a shout of shock and dismay, accompanied by a flurry of activity – then the screaming started.

It seemed to be emanating from an area at the bottom of the stairs – it sounded like a woman was in great distress. After a few moments, Amelia realised that the cause of it was anger, not pain.

" _Invaders! Intruders! Filth! Scum! Half-breeds! How dare you befoul the house of my fathers! Traitors and abominations!"_

Around her, a concert of similar shouting went up, making Amelia's head hurt.

"Shut _up_ , you evil old hag!" someone roared, over the din, and the woman – Amelia couldn't even see where she was – gave a shriek of recognition.

" _YOU? How dare you darken my door, you foul, shameful creature? You have brought shame to the great and noble house of Black! I curse your name, I curse the day I ever bore you into this world!"_

"Not as ashamed as I am of you, you mad old bitch! _Will you fuck off!_ " someone shouted. "Give me a hand with these bloody curtains, will you?"

It went on for some time; after the initial shock had worn off, Remus and Amelia both marched forward, dispelling the thick, sticky cobwebs as they went. They found Sirius Black in the middle of the corridor, swearing and shouting at a portrait of the unpleasantest woman Amelia had ever encountered.

The banshee – for the woman in the portrait could be described as little else, inhuman in her fury – was old and decrepit, wearing Victorian widows weeds; her cap had been knocked askew by the force of her rage and her eyes were rolling back. Drool and spittle ran down her chin as she continued her tirade. She was obviously completely insane.

Around her, other family portraits were awake and hurling abuse – though mostly, it seemed, at her. They seemed most annoyed that she had woken them up.

It took some doing, but between them, Sirius, Remus and Amelia managed to wrench a pair of old, mouldering velvet curtains back across the portrait. It muffled the sound quite effectively, and the neighbouring portraits began to calm down.

Sweating and panting from the effort, the three of them leaned back against the curtains.

"Wow," said Amelia, when she'd caught her breath.

"You have no idea," Sirius huffed, darkly.

"I'd forgotten how cheery she was," Remus remarked, and Sirius made a noise that could have been anything from a cough to a laugh, but was probably the product of a much deeper, wounded emotion.

"Hey," said Amelia. "Every family's got problems."

This time he did laugh, and enveloped Amelia in a sticky, cobwebby hug that she did her best to escape from.

"Oh, gross! Get off!"

0o0

The rest of the house was in a similar state of decay; they toured the property with an increasingly boisterous Sirius, finding room after room dark, dusty and neglected. Amelia suspected that their friend was fighting a serious bout of depression from the flood of memories his old home was eliciting.

"Last time I was back here," he confided, while Remus and Minerva explored the dingy but extensive library on the first floor, "I was seventeen."

"She kick you out?" Amelia asked, remembering her own teenage years.

"No, wouldn't besmirch the family name. I ran away."

He picked at an invisible thread on the end of his cuff.

"I went to live with Bea when I was seventeen," she said, watching her husband flick discerning eyes across the spines of the late, unlamented Mrs Black's books.

She turned back to find Sirius looking at her, a flicker of fellow-feeling in his eyes.

"James's mum and dad took me in," he said. "I was a pain in the arse."

"Nothing's changed there, then," she quipped, and dodged out of the way when he tried to swat her shoulder. "Sometimes," she said, carefully. "Sometimes we have to make our own families."

Amelia had eventually resumed a tense and uncomfortable relationship with her mother, aided greatly by no longer living with her, until the accident that had killed her and Hermione's parents. One glance at the portrait of the vicious woman in the hall was enough to tell her that there had never been a chance of that for Sirius.

"I'm glad you're a part of it," said Sirius, quite seriously. "Keeping old Moony on his toes."

Amelia smiled, letting the cantankerous Gryffindor slip an arm around her waist. "I'm glad you're free to be a part of it, too," she told him.

He sighed. "I wish I didn't have to come back here," he admitted, heavily. "It feels like going back to prison."

"Try to think of it as another opportunity to seriously piss off your mother," she suggested. "From what you've told me, she was a bit of a fan of the Dark Side of the Force."

Sirius snorted; _Star Wars_ had been a big thing when he and Remus were finishing school, even in the Wizarding World. "In a big way."

"So, headquartering the Rebel Alliance in her house has got to be an entertaining form of revenge."

A smile began to grow on his handsome face. Sirius gave her a squeeze, chuckling. "You are not wrong there."

0o0

Since Kreacher seemed to be avoiding them and Sirius had no wish to see his old enemy, they convened in the kitchen, where Dumbledore, Minerva, Moody and Remus immediately set to work on defensive spells.

Amelia rolled up her sleeves and tried out a few of the cleaning spells Molly Weasley had taught her. Sirius followed her around, kicking at imaginary stones, until she got sick of it and bullied him into helping make the room fit for human habitation. They ranged around the house a second time, opening every window that wasn't stuck (except for the one in Sirius's brother's room – he had acted as if the door simply wasn't there, and Amelia had taken the hint that Regulus's service as a Death Eater was still a bit too present for him) in an attempt to air the creaky old place out.

Several irritated looking spiders made a break for it as the fresh, summer air spilled inside. Sirius's mood was still bouncing between ebullient and depressed, so Amelia got him to help destroy anything that looked like it might be dangerous, or he just didn't want.

Blowing up his family heirlooms seemed to be helping, though he did pull a few things to one side that he thought might be useful to the order – mostly ancient magical spying equipment. The smoke from these small fires had begun to take out some of the pungent dereliction in the air, which was already improving.

"You know," he said, grimly setting fire to a stack of doilies that had apparently offended him. "I don't really like to waste things, but anything in here is pretty likely to have some unpleasant side effects, just in case somebody without magic came across them."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Amelia said, pushing her fringe out of her eyes. "But I'm really glad I never met your mother when she was alive."

"I don't know. I think I would have quite enjoyed watching you go to town on her."

Behind her, a pair of moth eaten antimacassars lit themselves and burned up, falling to floor as ashes. Amelia smiled to herself as Sirius stalked off in search of more fuel.

"This is actually pretty cathartic."

0o0

One by one, furtive people began to arrive, slipping through the dark threshold and into the dark corridor, with its peeling wallpaper and threadbare carpet, and were ushered down to the kitchen.

It was scarcely less gloomy than the hall above, a cavernous room with rough stone walls – though their efforts were beginning to make an impact. Most of the light was coming from a large fire at the far end of the room. Sirius's series of small, cathartic fires had produced fumes of various hues, hanging in the air like mist, and through it loomed the menacing shapes of heavy iron pots and pans hanging from the dark ceiling.

Remus and Sirius had spent much of the afternoon dragging chairs from various corners of the house into the kitchen, while Amelia lit candles and fires in an effort to relieve the gloom, and set an old mop and broom scrubbing the table and floor. Dumbledore, Moody and Minerva seemed to have divided up their time between putting extra magical locks on the door (it looked faintly ridiculous when Amelia had brought them up a cup of tea) and removing anything particularly dangerous from the house.

The first ones to arrive were the older members of the Weasley family, excluding the kids, who had been sent to Bea's for the day. Charlie and Bill came up the front steps after their parents and all four of them pulled a face at the state of the house.

"Well," Molly Weasley sniffed, briskly. "We'll have to do something about that. Hello Amelia, dear – is the master of the house about?"

"He is, but I wouldn't call him that," she said, giving them a lopsided grin. "How was Devon?"

"It was –" Molly began, but she didn't get much further.

They had been speaking quietly up to then, the Weasleys picking up on Amelia's deliberately low tones, but somewhere upstairs a door had slammed, which had a particularly unfortunate effect on the late, unlamented Mrs Black, who woke up with a shriek. The ragged velvet curtains that had been drawn across her portrait whipped back with a vengeance, and she started screaming as if her clothes were on fire.

" _Defilers! Intruders! Mountebanks! Half-breeds!"_

Amelia abandoned the four horrified Weasleys to try to pull the curtains back, but they wouldn't budge – as if the appalling old woman was keeping them open through sheer force of will. Mrs Black caught sight of her and took a deep breath.

" _Get out of my house, harlot!"_ the apparition screamed. _"Whore! Spittle-blood! Stale! Strumpet! How dare you darken the door of my father's house? Be gone from here! Foul defiler!"_

There was a certain amount of commotion on the stairs, including quite a lot of swearing, and her husband and his best friend appeared either side of her. They didn't seem to be having any more luck with the curtains either.

" _YOU!"_ Mrs Black yelled, recognising her son. _"How dare you set foot in my house?"_

"I'm not any bloody happier about it than you are, you evil old harpy!" Sirius bellowed back, tugging at the curtains. Arthur and Charlie ran to help, but there was little they could do.

" _Half breeds and sub-humans! Mudbloods! Filth!"_ Her mad, bulging eyes fixed on Remus. _"WEREWOLF!"_ she wailed, hysterically, and tried to throw her cap at him. _"Filthy creature! Polluter! Vermin! Get out! Get out!"_

Sirius, who was not about to stand by and let his best friend take that kind of abuse, hurled a curse at the painting, but nothing happened. He swore, cursed it again and – when that didn't work – hurled a fireball at it.

Remus pushed Amelia back as all five of them were forced to beat a hasty retreat.

"Padfoot!" he snapped, exasperated. "I realise you're upset, but I'd appreciate it if you didn't try to set my wife on fire!"

"Sorry Mel," Sirius shouted back, grimacing, but she dismissed his apology with a wave of her hand.

It took all six of them, but they eventually got the curtains closed – and held in place by a long shawl pin Molly extracted from her basket. They stood, staring at one another for a few moments, exhausted.

"Thank Merlin for that," said Minerva, coming down the stairs with Moody and Dumbledore.

"There must be some way of getting that thing down," said Bill, still breathing pretty hard.

"We'll work on it tomorrow," said Remus, firmly, as Sirius grumbled under his breath. He looked hurt and exhausted, and Amelia wasn't surprised. She rubbed his arm. "For the time being we'll just have to try to keep the noise down in here."

"We could hang up a sign," Arthur suggested, looking up and down the hall.

"What set her off?" Amelia asked, glancing up the stairs.

"Kreacher," Sirius growled, a particularly ugly expression on his face. "I ordered him not to tell anyone outside the Order and the kids about anything that happens or is said in this house, ever. I don't think he liked it."

"Did you kick him again?" Amelia asked, darkly. "I don't like you doing that."

"Alright, _Mum_ ," he complained, and she punched his arm. "Ouch!"

"Honey, you compare me to that banshee again and I'll hex your nads off."

"Amelia!" Molly admonished. "Really!"

"I think that's quite enough of that," said Minerva, firmly, and looked up as the front door opened again to admit a tall, handsome man in superb Turkish, purple robes. "Ah, Kingsley, good to see you."

"I'd quite like to see you hex Sirius's nads off," Bill whispered, as his mother herded everyone down to the dingy kitchen. "He showed up in the office last week and made me jump about three feet up in the air when I was trying to ask Fleur out."

"Fleur Delacour?" Amelia asked, surprised.

She remembered the young woman very favourably following her recent performance at the rather chaotic Triwizard Tournament. She and her fellow contestants had eventually had enough of the whole sorry business and decided amongst themselves to work together and orchestrate a four-way draw.

"Yeah, she's working at Gringotts," Charlie rumbled, in her other ear. "Bill's got a massive crush on her."

"She's gorgeous," said Bill, with a shrug. "And smart, and funny, and –"

"I thought you were still working in Egypt," Amelia interrupted, before he could get carried away, ignoring Charlie's sniggers.

"Oh yeah, well I packed that in as soon as Dad wrote to me," he told her, soberly. "We need everyone we can get. I'm working at Gringotts, too – curse breaker."

"I nearly threw in the towel, too," said Charlie, "but Dad convinced me to stay. I'm only back this week because Dumbledore wanted me at the meeting."

It wasn't until they got into the kitchen and Molly started tutting at the state of the range that the newest addition to the house caught up with them.

"Kingsley Shacklebolt," he said, shaking Amelia's hand, before moving on to Remus and Sirius, who was still scowling. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

He had a pleasant, commanding kind of voice – a deep bass, but rich and friendly. He was tall, broad-shouldered and, when he took his cap off he revealed a bald head. A glint of metal caught Amelia's eye in the low light, and she realised he was wearing a discrete earring. There was something oddly calm and reassuring about him.

"And you," said Remus, and then trod on Sirius's foot, reminding him to be nice.

"Ow – er – yeah, hi," Sirius managed. "Welcome to the pit of despair."

He slouched away, despondent, and Kingsley stared after him.

"Sorry about him," Remus apologised. "He's normally much friendlier, but..."

"It's okay," Kingsley said, waving his apology away. "I can't imagine coming back here is doing him any good. Dumbledore told me," he added, on their curious looks.

"I think I've heard of you," said Remus, thoughtfully. "You work for the Auror Department."

"That's right," said Kingsley, cheerfully. "And I've heard of you two – both teachers at Hogwarts, both with a reputation for standing up to stupidity."

"I'm not sure we'll benefit from that description this year," said Amelia, sadly.

"No indeed," Kingsley chuckled. "But I have to say, I've read a few departmental memos about you, Mrs Lupin, and they never fail to entertain!"

Amelia grimaced; that was worrying. "Er… oops?" she said, wondering what she could possibly have done now – she couldn't remember anything since the Quidditch World Cup, where she'd had set-tos with several high ranking Ministry officials.

She could tell from Remus's body language that he wasn't particularly comfortable with this prognosis either, but Kingsley grinned. "I wouldn't read too much into it – it's just that there's a feeling among the higher ups that you're not the sort of person to keep their mouth shut if you perceive trouble or manipulation, and that scares them. Almost every single note has had a caveat that you mustn't be allowed near the press."

Remus chuckled, though the tension hadn't entirely left him.

"Your name is surprisingly absent, on the other hand," Kingsley continued, nodding at Remus. "Aside from the occasional disgruntled note about Sirius Black."

"I shall take that as a compliment," Remus said, and Kingsley laughed.

It was a good laugh – rich and warm and comfortable, as if (despite the purpose of this meeting and the presumably dark nature of an Auror's work) everything was right with the world.

They were spared from further comment by a yell and a series of crashes.

Amelia opened the door, wondering if this was another of the mysterious Kreacher's protests, to discover a petite young woman with extremely pink hair sprawled across the bottom few steps.

"Bollocks," she said, loudly, which made Amelia laugh.

She and Sirius, who had crossed the room in only a few strides with similar thoughts about the origins of the commotion, helped her up. A couple of years younger than Amelia, her robes were deep purple, revealing a lime green tank top beneath, and a short black denim skirt. She looked like a poster girl for the alternative scene, which Amelia was equal parts surprised and ecstatic to see in the wizarding world.

"Are you hurt?" Amelia asked, and the woman shook her head, slapping the dust off her clothes.

"Nah – just wounded pride, as per usual!" she declared, cheerfully, giving Amelia a lopsided grin. "You've heard of people being all thumbs? I'm all feet!" She thrust her hand out. "I'm Tonks!"

"Amelia," said Amelia, shaking her hand.

"You always were a bit of a menace, Nymphadora," Sirius grinned, and seized the woman in a bear hug that swept her off her feet.

" _Don't_ call me Nymphadora!" Tonks hissed, and kicked him in the shin.

Amelia, who was sorely tempted to laugh, was distracted by the fact the woman's hair had suddenly turned a shocking red.

" _Nymphadora_ is Sirius's cousin," Remus explained, smiling at the glare she sent in his direction. "She sincerely dislikes her first name."

"So would you, if you were named after ancient sex-maniacs," she said, sticking her tongue out.

"I seem to recall the nymphs in Greek myths were generally turned into things while running away from unwanted attention," Amelia remarked, amused.

"Were they? History was never my strong suit," Tonks admitted. "I like them slightly better now!"

"Your mum named you after juvenile insects, and there's the end of it," Sirius teased, earning himself another well-aimed kick that he dodged like a pro.

Other than that, Tonks ignored him. "Long time no see, Remus – how've you been?"

"Not bad," he said, and shook her hand. "Last time I saw you, you were trying to steal Sirius's Firewhiskey at James and Lily's wedding."

"He wouldn't let me near it," said Tonks, grinning at the memory. Amelia watched, fascinated, as the red in her hair melted back into pink. "Old grump."

"You were fifteen at the time," Remus pointed out.

"Never stopped him."

Amelia laughed. "You two are definitely cousins," she said.

"About the only one I can stand," Sirius grinned. "Tonks's mum, Andromeda, was a bit of a black sheep, like me."

"And you still drive her up the wall," Tonks grinned. "We were all well chuffed when your conviction was overturned. Dodgy as hell that, in the first place. I looked it up at work."

"Are you an Auror too?" Amelia asked, interested.

"Yeah, for my sins," Tonks told her. She frowned for a moment, her eyes lighting on the way Remus's hand was resting on the back of Amelia's sleeve. "You two married?" she asked.

"Yeah, for my sins," said Amelia, and Remus rolled his eyes.

Tonks laughed. "Awesome – congrats. I used to have a massive crush on Remus when I was a teenager," she added, candidly. "Despite being a prefect, he was well fit in school."

"I bet he was." Amelia couldn't help the grin forming on her face as her husband wheeled away towards the range, suddenly intent on helping Molly stoke the fire, his cheeks about the same colour. Sirius followed him, roaring with laughter. "By the way, how do you do that with your hair?"

More and more of Dumbledore's trusted friends began to arrive, each hand-picked for their unique skills, talents, contacts or positions in the Ministry. She recognised one or two of them – Basil, who had been on duty at the Quidditch World Cup last year, and Montgomery Hinton, an old lawyer friend of Minerva's, who had helped Amelia seriously irritate the editor of _Witch Weekly_. Although they filled the kitchen, Amelia was struck by how few of them there were, compared to the number of people Remus had told them worked for the Ministry – and that wasn't even taking into account any of Voldemort's supporters.

 _Still, many revolutions have started with a handful of people in dingy kitchens,_ Amelia thought, and then wondered when she'd started thinking of this as a revolution.

It wasn't like they really wanted anything to change (except maybe the way people legislated against werewolves); they just didn't want anyone to be murdered in their beds.

She hung back with Sirius and Remus on the edge of the room, feeling a little intimidated by the large number of witches and wizards. Amelia might have a stable position at Hogwarts, but here, among people who spent their days at the Ministry of Magic, she felt awkward and out of place, her lack of experience of the Wizarding World making her uncomfortable. The same, general anxiety was emanating from Sirius and Remus, too. What with Remus's condition and Sirius's conviction, they were all three of them were accustomed to occupying a place on the edge of things.

There were other misfits among the throng, too, like the man Sirius had enthusiastically introduced to them as Dung; a moley little creature who smelled of sweat and stale tobacco – Remus was giving him a wide berth. He looked like a bit of a wide boy, which was probably why Sirius liked him, and had spent several minutes peering at a dusty, but expensive looking, soup tureen that was hanging from the wall at the end of the room.

Miss Figg, too, who Dumbledore gently escorted in, was a little old lady in muggle clothes, looking tremendously out of place in a room full of wizards. Amelia, curious as ever, had wandered over to introduce herself and discovered that she was a 'squib' (a term Amelia personally loathed) who lived in the vicinity of Harry's aunt and uncle in Little Whinging and had been keeping an unobtrusive eye on the boy for years. They had a brief, enjoyable chat about _Midsomer Murders_ (which Miss Figg apparently loved), mutually happy to find someone else who understood muggle pop culture and lived their lives straddling the borders of both worlds.

Amelia looked up when Hagrid came in, having to stoop very low indeed in order to get through the door, causing a bit of a reshuffle among the crowd. People began to take their seats, and Amelia realised that while she had been talking the majority of the senior staff of Hogwarts had arrived and were happily chatting to the other guests, most of whom they had presumably taught.

Excusing herself from Miss Figg, Amelia sought out Pomona Sprout and Poppy Pomfrey, nearly falling over Filius Flitwick (who was so small he was easily lost) in the process.

"Oof – sorry Filius!" she apologised, stopping herself just in time.

"That's alright," he said, cheerfully. "I feel like a bit of a ninja in here – no one can see me until they're right on top of me!"

A little embarrassed that she'd nearly taken her friend out, she grinned, glad he had the temperament to take the disadvantages of his stature in this setting in his stride. It wasn't as if it bothered him the rest of the time.

She took a seat beside Poppy, nodded at Severus, who swept past to find a chair behind them, and chatted happily with her colleagues until she felt Remus's presence behind her and Dumbledore raised his hands by the range, bringing the room to order.


	7. The Order of the Phoenix

"I do think they could have come up with a less dramatic name," Amelia remarked, spooning a second helping of stew into her bowl.

The meeting had lasted all afternoon and fairly late into the evening, when nearly thirty tired witches and wizards had Apparated out in a series of bangs reminiscent of a fireworks display, leaving Mrs Black's appalling shrieks far behind.

They had timetabled a rota of people to keep an unobtrusive eye on Harry, who would still be at his aunt and uncle's house for the majority of the holiday, unless Sirius, Amelia and Remus, or the Weasleys invited him over. None of them thought it was a good idea for him to be out on his own anymore, so it looked like his days of rambling through the countryside around Knockin and Catchpole St Ottery were at an end – at least for the moment. She couldn't imagine he would take that particularly well; Harry didn't have the disposition for always being cooped up.

"What would you call it instead?" Remus asked, mopping up the remains of his meal with a lump of bread. "The Random Collection of People Who Hate Voldemort?"

Amelia chuckled, pleased that of all the people she knew, her husband was one of the few who could bring himself to say the Dark Lord's name. "You know what I mean. It just sounds – I don't know… a bit medieval."

"The whole Wizarding World is a bit medieval, in case you hadn't noticed," he pointed out, with a grin.

Amelia nodded slowly, moving the stew around with her spoon. Although the meeting had felt more like an _Alcoholic's Anonymous_ meeting than anything else, what with everyone introducing themselves and sharing a bit about what they did, there had been darker undertones that were impossible to ignore.

Moody had talked about personal security, household wards, and extensive safety measures for entering and leaving Grimmauld Place, so that no one got suspicious about large numbers of wizards coming and going all the time.

They couldn't Floo in, because the house hadn't been connected to the network for years, and Apparation had the unfortunate effect of setting off Mr Black's portrait, which was okay for now, but would be a real embuggerance for anyone using it as a safe house or sleeping off a mission. Amelia had suggested designating one room in the house as an arrival and departure room and liberally covering the walls with sound muffling charms, which Filius agreed to co-ordinate once a suitable room had been chosen and rendered safe. Miss Figg would have to use the front door, along with anyone who couldn't Apparate for whatever reason, but she had laughed and assured people that most of the time, little old ladies were rather unexpected agents of revolution, and were generally ignored.

Minerva had set forth a programme of training for various members of the Order to share their skills. Molly took it upon herself to organise the clearing of the house, to the relief of many in the room. Amelia, who knew Molly well enough to know that she was extremely skilled at recruiting 'volunteers' suspected that this relief might well be short-lived.

The room had more or less been divided into three groups: people with useful skills, people with useful contacts, and people who lived in tactically relevant places. Many of them occupied more than one of these categories, but all of them were useful, in their own way. It came as no surprise to Amelia that Dumbledore was good at spotting people's talents.

He'd waited for everyone else to finish and then detailed what he called 'responsibilities', but what everyone else couldn't help but think of as 'missions', all in that gentle, slightly whimsical tone he used in staff meetings at school. It was more than a little surreal.

Anyone working at the Ministry was effectively asked to keep their ear to the ground, even at social gatherings; both Kingsley and Tonks were also asked to try to keep anything they came across about the activities of other Order members under wraps. The same went for Bill, at Gringotts – particularly as the goblins didn't care much about who banked with them, as long as no one tried to steal anything. He had already noticed several unsavoury characters lurking about the bank.

As he had suspected, Charlie was heading back to Romania with instructions to reach out to any of his colleagues that seemed sympathetic to their cause – and make new friends where he could. The general consensus was that if the shit really began to hit the fan, they would need all the help they could get, particularly from outside sources.

Hagrid, too, was to be dispatched overseas, which caused a reasonable amount of surprise among his Hogwarts colleagues, who were already beginning to think about timetabling. Madame Maxime, who had been at Hogwarts the previous year as part of the Triwizard Tournament, was to meet him somewhere in France, and spend the summer trying to win the European giants over to their cause.

It had come as some surprise to Amelia that anything as large as a colony of giants could exist anywhere on the continent without anyone noticing, and she had listened with some fascination to Dumbledore's directions and instructions. It seemed the world of the giants, though seen to be coarse and inferior to the Wizarding World, was governed by a series of strict checks and etiquette, which reminded her strongly of the Norse courts in the Viking sagas.

Around the room, several people had blenched when Dumbledore had brought the subject up – and then tried very hard to look like they hadn't, because it was very difficult to dislike their own gentle half-giant. It saddened her that there was so much thoughtless racism in the world – particularly coming from otherwise quite sane, friendly people.

After Hagrid, Dumbledore had turned to Sirius, who had expected to be kept close to the ground given his unfortunate and unwanted celebrity status, but the headmaster had other plans. He had contacts in Prague and Vienna, he said, who were reluctant to help, but who might be persuaded by someone from the old families.

Sirius had looked distinctly disgruntled by this, but had brightened up a bit when Dumbledore had waxed lyrical about needing someone who could sneak about and keep a sharp eye on proceedings. They would need permission to meet with the unspecified 'cabal', so Sirius would be able to stay in England over the summer and keep an eye on Harry, but when the time came he'd have to be 'on call' so to speak.

It hadn't escaped Amelia's notice that Dumbledore had been very careful about not specifying who Sirius was supposed to be meeting, and Remus – perhaps sensing her curiosity – had whispered stories in her ear about vampires and the Castle of Bones, and an ancient society of Alchemists in the old part of Vienna.

Remus had agreed to spend at least part of the summer meeting with those lycanthropes who hadn't gone 'feral' as Dumbledore had thoughtlessly called it, and still clung to the edges of society. He didn't hold out much hope of success – and had said so; the Ministry had been increasing their anti-werewolf legislation in recent months, and it was getting harder and harder for them to live day to day.

Someone had said something about convincing them of Voldemort's evil intentions, but Remus had shut them down at once. It wasn't lack of awareness the werewolves were suffering from, it was the question of why they should try to stand up for a system that was determined to drive them into the ground – particularly when Voldemort's supporters were recruiting with promises of paid employment and better status. The rather stern looking witch who had spoken had gone very pink while he talked, and kept her mouth shut for the rest of the meeting, which was good, because Amelia had had half a mind to have a word with her.

She had been distracted when her name had come up, however. Dumbledore wanted her to go to _Witch Weekly_ , to see Persephone Miller, the practical, thoughtful and sensible secretary, to see if she could exert her considerable control over her editor, Cecil Newbold, and tone down the vitriol of the government line. Newbold saw himself as a bit of a rake, and wasn't above taking advantage of people's tragedies to boost his sales; Amelia had had to present him with a deposition the previous school year when the utter rot that vapid hack, Rita Skeeter, had printed about her and her cousin had got out of hand.

It was highly unlikely that Newbold would agree to print anything that directly disagreed with what Cornelius Fudge and his cronies were touting, but they might be able to limit the damage a little – particularly for Harry, who was their new favourite target. Dumbledore didn't seem to care about how he was being treated in the press – it was like water off a duck's back, and to be fair, said duck had been standing up for what was right and irritating all the wrong sorts of people for five or six decades now, so his metaphorical feathers were more or less the same consistency as Teflon.

Severus, whose mission had already started, reported that Voldemort had taken him back into the fold rather cagily, which was to be expected, given his recent reputation for fairness and befriending muggleborns. Given this caution, there wasn't much he could tell them as yet, except that the Death Eaters were consolidating their position, setting up safe houses in undisclosed locations and searching for any old members who hadn't returned when Voldemort called them, about a month before. Amelia got the impression that life would shortly become very hard indeed for those ex-Death Eaters.

He discussed continuing his friendships at Hogwarts (with a covert glance at Remus and Amelia), justified to the Order (and the Death Eaters, Amelia suspected) as a means of maintaining close cover. It was agreed that he could continue being his grumpy, irritating self for as long as the Death Eaters bought the disguise. No mention was made of what would happen after that, possibly because there wouldn't be an 'after'.

By the time they had finished, everyone was exhausted, caught in that strange interim between horror and taking action against it, either feeling energised that they were finally doing something about it, or depressed that they had to.

Walking around with her head in a sort of meeting-based fug, Amelia had been pulled aside twice – first by Poppy, who wanted to give her extra lessons in magical first aid, given that she already had a muggle basis for it, and then by Minerva.

In the early part of the last year, Amelia had applied to the Ministry to be allowed to undertake Animagus training, but with all the chaos of the school year, the plot to abduct and murder several of their students and the resulting international fallout, she had rather forgotten about it. Now, though, Minerva thought it would be an apt time to complete it – and had outright told her that it might be best for the Order if Amelia were to 'forget' to file her final paperwork.

Taken aback by her upright and sensible friend's suggestion that she ought to break the law, Amelia had agreed. After all, if they didn't know she was an Animagus, no one would be on the lookout for her. It had worked very well for both Sirius and Peter Pettigrew, and she didn't see why it shouldn't work for her; part of her felt she wouldn't have been quite so quick to agree if they hadn't just been discussing anti-werewolf legislation.

Sirius and Severus – an unlikely pair of co-conspirators at the best of times – had cornered her just as she and Remus were about to leave, and told her that they would be teaching her to duel whether she liked it or not. Tonks, overhearing, had volunteered to help, when she wasn't out at work, or running reconnaissance for the Order, so Amelia had rather reluctantly agreed.

It wasn't that she didn't agree that she needed the help (her performance at the Quidditch World Cup and Sirius's subsequent disbelief had taught her that), it was just that Sirius, Severus and her husband were pretty legendary in terms of duelling, and the idea of sparring with them, one after the other, gave her a bit of a headache. She had welcomed Tonks's involvement on the basis that she could bring the perspective of a younger generation of wizardry (not to mention that of an Auror) – and it was possible that she might trip over her own feet and enable Amelia to take the occasional break.

All of this, of course, was top secret. So top secret, in fact, that they couldn't tell Hermione, Bea or Hazel, which felt very odd. Although she completely understood the need for security, Amelia couldn't help but feel that they ought to know at least the basics, given that they were right in the thick of it, through no fault of their own. It was worse, somehow, given that they knew she and Remus must be doing something to try to stop the impending war, but it couldn't be helped – at least, not yet. The jury was still out on whether to tell the kids, and until there was a consensus, Amelia had decided not to tell her aunt or her best friend either, in an effort at fairness.

She didn't like keeping secrets from anyone – particularly from people she really cared about. It made her feel distinctly uncomfortable.

Amelia sighed; her head felt woolly, stuffed over-full of ideas. She poked a potato disconsolately with her spoon until something made her look up.

Realising Remus had spoken and was patiently waiting for a response, she cleared her throat. "Sorry," she said. "I was miles away."

"I could tell," he said, with a wary chuckle, as if he knew the dark roads her mind had been taking. "Knut for your thoughts?"

Amelia frowned at her cold stew for a moment. "I was just running over the meeting again in my mind," she told him, quietly. "I mean, I knew this was coming – how could we avoid it? But… I don't know. It just feels very real, all of a sudden."

He nodded sadly and she continued, "Here we are, settling into our home, acting like we haven't a care in the world, while somewhere out there Severus is lying to the most evil man in recent history, risking his neck for all of us."

"I know," he sighed, and suddenly Remus looked much older than the pleasant young man she knew and loved. "Not being able to help, or improve the odds of him not being killed – that's the worst part."

They were quiet for a few moments, lost in their own dark thoughts, listening to the ticking of the clock on the kitchen wall.

"Is this what it felt like before?" Amelia asked, after a while. It was something she had been wondering ever since they'd heard about the disturbance of Voldemort's father's tomb, but she hadn't wanted to ask. Remus had lost so much the last time around, and she didn't want to remind him – but with the Order of the Phoenix mobilising, such feelings must be unavoidable.

"Yes," he said, soberly.

Amelia nodded, returning her gaze to the kitchen table, fighting despondency. Although she believed wholeheartedly in the Order and its intentions, it hadn't worked fifteen years ago – why should it now?

Starting, she felt Remus's larger hand cover her own; Amelia looked up.

"But this time I have more hope," he told her; she turned her hand palm upwards so she could hold his hand properly. "I have you, we have a head start – there are mistakes we made last time that we'll know to avoid this time. And we have Harry."

"He's just a kid," Amelia reminded him, sadly.

"Yes, but you heard what Dumbledore said about the prophecy. If anyone can beat Voldemort, Harry can. Maybe not yet," he added, on her look of incredulity. "But one day – hopefully sooner, rather than later. Merlin knows I'd rather he didn't have to – he's already been through so much, but…"

"But he survived it all," Amelia finished.

"Exactly. Anything we can do to slow Voldemort or the Death Eaters down in the meantime has got to help."

She nodded, chewing at the inside of her lip. It galled her to admit it, given the age of her cousin, but very soon there wouldn't be much room for qualms about someone's age or inexperience. The Death Eaters were hardly likely to take it into account, for a start.

"You know, this is one of the reasons I think he's wrong about keeping Harry at arm's length," she remarked, recalling one of the more hotly contested questions of the meeting. "I'm all for protecting him, but pretty soon none of us are going to be able to do that. The best we can do is teach him how to protect himself."

Remus gave her hand a squeeze, guessing that Amelia's mind was on Harry's best friends as much as the boy himself.

"Dumbledore will have his reasons," he said, gently. "We just have to trust him."

"I do trust him," said Amelia, who had had a taste of some of Dumbledore's more morally ambiguous 'good' reasons during the Triwizard Tournament. She hadn't quite been able to see their gentle, generous, slightly batty headmaster in the same light after he had willingly hung out a fourteen year old boy as bait. "I just think he's wrong on this occasion." She assessed the expression on her husband's face and smiled slightly. "And you agree with me."

He chuckled. "I do. I don't think any of those kids should go forward without some serious defence training – but I can do that in my half of Defence Against the Dark Arts."

"Assuming this new 'curriculum monitor' lets you," she reminded him.

Remus grinned, suddenly looking every inch a Marauder. "I have no intention of them finding out."

0o0

It was with this same air of optimistic mischief that they Apparated to the Burrow a couple of days later, Hermione and Aunt Bea in tow. Their good mood evaporated, however, when they met a stony-faced Ron and Ginny at the gate.

"Give them a minute," said Ron, darkly.

"Everything alright?" Remus asked, picking up on his tone.

Even Hermione's hand, Amelia noted, had moved toward her wand, stuffed – as usual – in the back pocket of her jeans, but they needn't have worried.

"Mum and Dad are fighting," Ginny said, in a low, slightly sulky voice.

Amelia exchanged a worried look with Remus. Although she assumed that Molly and Arthur had their fair share of ups and downs, they always seemed so balanced in themselves – it was hard to imagine them falling out.

"Er… what – er…" asked Bea, looking uncomfortable.

"Percy," Ron said, and it struck Amelia that there was a lot of anger contained in those two syllables. "He had a big fight with Dad last night, after Charlie left for Romania."

"I've never seen Dad row with anyone like that before," said Ginny. "It's normally Mum who shouts. He came home last night to see Charlie off and announced he'd got this big promotion."

"Really?" Hermione asked, surprised. "I thought – after all that stuff with Crouch –"

"Yeah," said Ron, glumly. "There was an inquiry. They said he ought to have noticed that Crouch was off his rocker and notified someone. But you know Percy, Crouch left him in charge, he wasn't about to complain."

"Which is why we figured the promotion was bogus," said Ginny, angrily. "He came home all full of himself, assuming we'd all be dead proud of him, and told us he'd been offered a position in Fudge's own office. A really good one for someone only a year out of Hogwarts: Junior Assistant to the Minister." She glanced at her brother. "Dad wasn't quite as impressed as he was hoping."

Ron nodded. "He told us Fudge has been storming around the Ministry checking that nobody's having any contact with Dumbledore," he told them. "Ever since they bungled that raid on The Riddle House in June, he's had it out for him – and it's the same with most of the Ministry, Dad says."

"Harry too, if you read the _Daily Prophet_ ," Hermione grumbled.

"Right," Ron agreed. "Dad says Fudge has made it clear that anyone who's 'in league' with Dumbledore can clear out their desks."

"Crikey," said Bea. "I didn't realise it was this bad!"

She looked at Amelia, who nodded, resigned. "It's ridiculous – he's driving any attempt to prepare for what's coming right into the ground."

"Anyway, the trouble is, Fudge suspects Dad," Ginny went on. "He knows he's friendly with Dumbledore, and he's always thought Dad's a bit of a weirdo because of his Muggle obsession."

"And Percy thinks that's a threat to his new position?" Remus guessed, shrewdly.

"Yeah," said Ron, darkly. "Dad told Percy he reckons Fudge only wants him in his office because he wants to use him to spy on the family – and Dumbledore."

Remus let out a low whistle as Hermione gasped. "I bet Percy took that well," he said.

Ron laughed in a hollow sort of way. "He went completely berserk. He said – well," he exchanged a worried look with Ginny, "he said loads of terrible stuff. He said he's been having to struggle against Dad's lousy reputation ever since he joined the Ministry and that Dad's got no ambition and that's why we've always been – you know – not had a lot of money, I mean –"

" _What?_ " Amelia said in disbelief, as Ginny made a noise like an angry cat.

"What utter rot!" Bea spat. "How could anyone –"

"That's insane," said Remus, horrified.

"I know," said Ron, in a low voice. "And it got worse when Dad didn't back down. He said Dad was an idiot to run around with Dumbledore, that Dumbledore was heading for big trouble and Dad was going to go down with him, and that he – Percy – knew where his loyalty lay and it was with the Ministry. And if Mum and Dad were going to become traitors to the Ministry he was going to make sure everyone knew he didn't belong to our family anymore. He just packed his bags and left, yelling something about having a flat in London anyway."

Amelia swore under her breath. She had always liked Percy least of all Ron's brothers, but she had never pictured him saying such awful things to his parents.

Remus put a comforting hand on Ron's shoulder. "It's the war," he said gently. "It does things to people's heads."

"Mum's been in a right state," said Ginny dully, as Amelia put an arm around her shoulder. "Crying and stuff. She went up to London this morning to talk to him, but he slammed the door in her face. I've never seen her this upset. And Dad tried to look after her, but then they just started shouting…"

They all looked up as the front door of the Burrow slammed, several hundred feet away, and a very red Arthur Weasley stalked towards the magically enlarged Anderson shelter he referred to as his shed.

"They're probably both so upset right now they don't know what to do with themselves," said Bea. "I can't imagine either of them blame the other."

"No," said Ron, miserably.

"Where are the twins?" Amelia asked, exchanging a look with her husband over the top of the kids' heads.

"Hiding out in the orchard," said Ginny, picking at a splinter on the gate. "Mum's pretty annoyed at them, too, for their joke-shop nonsense."

"Why don't you three go and find them, and head into Ottery St Catchpole for some fish and chips?" Amelia suggested, pulling out her purse. "Bring us all some back – here." She handed Hermione several Muggle notes. "We'll see what we can do here."

"Thanks," said Ron, who always cheered up a bit at the prospect of food. "Come on Gin, they'll be alright."

"Take your time," said Remus, pointedly, as Ron, Ginny and Hermione walked briskly towards the orchard, obviously wanting to put as much distance between themselves and The Burrow as they could.

Hermione waved to show that they had heard, and the three adults set off towards the house.

"Divide and conquer?" Bea asked, and Remus nodded, veering off towards the shed that Arthur could be heard banging around, scattering panicked chickens.

Amelia knocked lightly on the kitchen door and called out, in case Molly mistook her for her husband, "Hello! Anyone in?"

She stuck her head around the door and spotted Molly rising from the kitchen table, hurriedly dabbing at her eyes with a brightly coloured handkerchief.

"Amelia!" she hiccupped, "I'd forgotten you were coming today! I'll just get – just get the kettle – oh!"

Amelia forestalled further comment by giving her friend a tight hug. Molly struggled with her emotions for a moment before bursting into a fresh bout of tears.

"There, there – it's alright Molly, let it all out…"

She watched as Bea silently argued with Molly's slightly sentient kettle, finally managing to get it on the range, before casting around for a way to light it. Realising that a magical family probably had no need for matches, she looked at her niece imploringly and Amelia flicked her wand at it as unobtrusively as she could, given that she was now more or less supporting Molly's weight.

She saw the look of surprise flash across her aunt's face (she didn't often perform magic in front of her, as a rule – the Farm was still too much a part of her Muggle life for it to be natural yet), but returned her attention to her sobbing friend instead.

"Come on, let's sit down," she said, piloting Molly back towards the chair as Aunt Bea rummaged in the cupboards for something a little stronger than tea.

"I'm s-s-sorry," Molly managed, tearfully. "I'm such a mess – I –"

"It's okay," said Amelia. "It's okay."

"And Bea – Merlin, what must you think of me?" she sobbed.

"I think you're having a horrible day," said Bea, indistinctly. "And that anyone having a horrible day is entitled to a bit of a cry."

She reappeared with a bottle of Firewhiskey, watching a rather enthusiastic mug of tea waddle across the table towards Molly's shaking hands. "Er – is it supposed to do that?"

Amelia nodded, rubbing Molly's back soothingly.

"I'm so out of sorts this afternoon – I –" she said, shakily, not meeting their eyes.

"Ron and Ginny told us about Percy," said Amelia, quietly. "I'm so sorry, Molly."

The resolve she had been pulling together crumpled and she buried her head in her arms. "I just can't believe – he said such awful – he's my son!" she cried indistinctly, sobbing again. "I tried to talk to him, but he just – he slammed the door in my face…"

Amelia hugged her tightly, not able to think of a single thing to say to make her feel even a little better. On Molly's other side, Bea uncorked the Firewhiskey and poured a liberal measure into the excited mug of tea, which had jumped up and down so much, trying to get its mistress's attention, that it had slopped about half of the tea on the table already.

"Here, get this down you," she instructed, with the tone that had always reminded Amelia of her hockey teacher. It brooked no argument, and Molly took the mug without apparent thought. "You'll feel better."

"And on top of everything else, I sh-shouted at Arthur – over nothing! What must you think of me?" she said again, but her breathing was slowing down as she got the tears under control. She took a sip of the highly alcoholic tea and made an attempt at drying her face. "I feel like such a fool – I'm so ashamed."

"Nonsense!" Bea told her, sharply. "Sometimes having a good cry is exactly what you need. You're a very strong woman, Molly Weasley, but even us strong women have to let it out somehow."

Amelia nodded as Molly tried to wave the comment away. "Anyone would be upset right now, Molly – you've nothing to be ashamed of."

She met her eyes for a moment and nodded, still sniffling.

"I don't know about you," Bea continued, "but I had my share of screaming matches with my late husband – and I daresay Amelia and Remus have their set-tos as well, though they hide it exceptionally well. It never made a blind bit of difference at the end of the day, and I suspect you and Arthur are just the same. You've both had a horrible time of it – that's all."

"I should be supporting him, not picking fights," Molly argued, half-heartedly.

"And I bet that's exactly what you have been doing – and what you will be continuing to do," said Amelia, gently. "But sometimes people just need to shout at someone for a few minutes – and it's always someone we care about, because that's how we work. Humans are a bit rubbish like that."

"Here," said Bea, handing her the handkerchief again. "Blow your nose, wash your face and drink your tea."

Molly did as she was told – though not without casting Bea a look that bordered on amusement, and soon she was mopping up the spilt tea on the table top, talking haltingly about the weather and fretting about Arthur.

"And if the sunny weather keeps on like this it's going to play merry hell with the crops around here," she continued. "I mean, I'm all for some good weather, but we need a week of rain, too, now and then."

"Mmm, I have the same problem with the orchards," said Bea, sympathetically. "We have dispensation to irrigate it, but still. The hosepipe ban doesn't half bite sometimes."

Molly nodded, but Amelia suspected that she wasn't really listening.

All three of them looked up when a shadow fell on the table; Arthur was standing miserably in the bright doorway, wringing his hands, Remus a few feet behind him. Both he and Molly started talking at once, closing the gap between them as if they were magnetic.

"Molly, I'm so sorry – I shouldn't have snapped like that –"

"Arthur, I should never – I'm sorry love –"

"I think this is our cue to go see where those young reprobates have got to," Amelia said, in an undertone, and she and her aunt made a brisk exit, carrying Remus along with them, leaving Molly and Arthur hugging one another tightly.


	8. Fight or Flight

**Chapter 8 – Fight or Flight**

" _Impedimenta!_ "

Amelia threw herself back behind the statue she was using as cover and sent a jinx Ginny had told her about at her opponent's knees. He fell to the floor with a crash, roaring in dismay. With a quick glance around the room, Amelia emerged from her hiding place and slowly approached the stricken form – he was being attacked with gusto by a flock of what looked like large bogies with bat wings, his jellified legs flailing wildly.

She smiled, making a mental note to thank the young witch for her recommendation (and not to stick around if the girl was in a bad mood). In the corner of the room, off to her left, something made a floorboard creak.

Amelia span, her wand up and ready in time to block the low-level hex that was shooting towards her and send a swift counter-jinx that made her assailant fall back with a clatter and a brief cry. She was just about advance when her own legs locked tightly together and she collapsed.

"Ow," she complained, her voice muffled a little by the moth-eaten carpet.

"Not bad," said Tonks, cheerily, from somewhere over to her right. "Didn't think you'd get me – bloody floorboards."

"Hmph," said Amelia, trying to roll herself over – only her legs were affected, but the jinx had made them far heavier than she felt they ought to be.

"I think you're going easy on her, Moony," Sirius grumbled, as Tonks got rid of his airborne tormentors. "Yeurch! Who taught you the bat-bogey hex anyway?"

"I work in a school," Amelia pointed out, managing to lift her head a little. "You can thank Ginny Weasley for that honour. Look, I hate to complain, but could someone help me up?"

Molly had assured them that there were no longer any moths in residence, but still. Amelia didn't feel like spending too much time with her face pressed to the floor.

Feeling returned to her legs like a warm tide and she pushed herself up onto her knees.

"Thank you," she said, looking up at her husband, who offered her a hand.

"Careful," he said gently. "It'll take a few minutes to wear off completely."

"Good to know," she said, and then found out first-hand what he meant. "Oh –"

Luckily, Remus knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't listen, and caught and steadied her. Finding her face suddenly pressed against her husband's shirt, she coloured a little. She hadn't expected to have to take his warning quite so literally. Her legs still distinctly wobbly, she looked up to find his blue-grey eyes gazing back, a slight smile on his face.

"Steady," he said softly, wrapping his arms around her waist.

Amelia smiled back, enjoying the excuse to be close to him. Nearby she could hear Sirius trying to get rid of the last bat bogey – a particularly stubborn one – and Tonks fairly crying with laughter. Remus seemed just as content to ignore them for a minute or two. He tightened his embrace slightly, clearly appreciating the opportunity to cuddle as much as she was.

"Oh, put her down, Moony," Sirius complained.

"She's my wife and I'll do with her as I wish," Remus responded, pressing a kiss to Amelia's forehead. "Well," he qualified, under his breath, "as she wishes."

Somewhere behind her, Sirius made an exaggerated gagging noise. "She's a minx, and she knows it."

Amelia managed to turn around enough to stick her tongue out at him. "You just wait until I can walk again."

Sirius flashed her a wicked grin, letting her know his ego wasn't particularly bruised. "What do you reckon, Nymphadora? We could take them – two against two? Ow!"

"I reckon you need to stop calling me Nymphadora."

When Amelia was a little steadier, they reset the room, which had been equipped with a lot of stuff that was about the right size to take cover behind and that Sirius didn't particularly like. Originally, this had been a grand dining room where his parents had entertained guests, but the chairs had been taken downstairs for the Order meetings and the table had lost two and a half legs to something with teeth. They hadn't quite figured out what it was yet, which was a little worrying, and the few Order members who were staying overnight (Molly and her 'volunteers' had cleared out two bedrooms now – a mammoth task, given the Doxies) had been instructed to lock their doors.

Sirius had given the table to Arthur, who had offered to fix it up, but he didn't want it back. Amelia suspected it would be being pressed into service for every outdoor celebration the Weasleys had for years to come.

Filius and Minerva had put layer upon layer of muffling charms on the walls, floor and ceiling, and Kreacher had been expressly forbidden to enter, so he couldn't undo any of it. This was to be their designated Apparation room, and given how noisy it could be, today's duelling practice was designed to test the charms.

So far, they hadn't set Mrs Black off once – for all they knew, she was still dozing beneath her hideous cap, the ragged curtains pulled tightly closed in front of her. Kreacher had grumbled at them all through lunch (they had unanimously decided not to ask him to cook) and then disappeared somewhere in the attic, where he had a sort of a nest, filled with all the things he had rescued from Sirius and Molly's joint assault on the family heirlooms.

Amelia couldn't help feel bad for him, as miserable as the grumpy little bastard was. He'd obviously loved his mistress very much, and he loathed Sirius as much as Sirius loathed him. She suspected that Kreacher would be marginally less unpleasant if Sirius could bear to be less horrible to him, but it was clearly beyond his abilities – at least for the moment.

For several hours they sparred together, swapping partners and testing each others' abilities. Considering the other three had spent their whole lives in the Wizarding World, two of them had lived and fought through a vicious war and the other was a full-time Auror, she didn't think she had comported herself too badly. By the end of the session, they all had their fair share of bruises.

Together, they trooped downstairs to the kitchen, tiptoeing past the portrait of Mrs Black. Tonks nearly fell over the hideous troll-foot umbrella stand in the hallway, but Amelia seized the back of her robes and Sirius dived for the stand; there were a few moments where all four of them were frozen in that attitude, with Remus half-turned towards them, expecting the worst.

Fortunately, Mrs Black simply gave an extra-loud snore, ruffling the curtains slightly.

Relieved, they continued down the hall, trying to laugh as quietly as possible. As soon as the kitchen door was closed, all four of them collapsed into helpless laughter.

"That was _close_ ," Tonks giggled, wiping tears of mirth from her eyes. "Nice reflexes Mel – we should call you 'Lightning Lupin'."

"Comes of years of keeping students out of trouble on dig sites," she said cheerfully. "I hauled a lad up by his backpack once, about one foot away from a cliff edge he hadn't noticed."

"If you're 'Lightning Lupin', what does that make me?" Remus asked, amused.

"You're 'Moony', Moony," said Sirius, as if this was the silliest question he'd ever heard. "God bless Molly Weasley, she's left two pans full of soup and a whole cottage pie – and stuff for sandwiches."

"That woman could provision an army," said Remus, impressed.

"Well, an army marches on its stomach, doesn't it?" Tonks grinned.

"Here, I'll heat it up," Remus offered, taking the pie out of Sirius's hands. "I don't like you getting too near anything with flames."

"Don't put any out for me – I'm going out for dinner," said Tonks, leaning against the counter.

"Hot date?" asked Sirius, putting his boots up on the table.

"I wish! Mum and Dad are taking me out – I think Mum's trying to set me up with one of the chefs…"

Amelia grimaced in sympathy. "My aunt used to do that. Never ended well."

"I should think not," said Remus, tolerantly. "Otherwise you'd have been swept off your feet by some dashing young creature, and I'd be a lonely werewolf, subsisting off Molly Weasley's cottage pie."

Amelia, who had heard this line before, rolled her eyes.

"You do yourself down, Moony. Anyway, what's this chef like? I feel as the elder, more responsible cousin I ought to vet all your suitors."

"Pfft! Whatever!" sputtered Tonks, as Amelia snorted.

"More responsible, my arse," Remus remarked. "We have met you before, Sirius."

"I'm wounded, Moony, wounded!" the other man cried, clutching his chest. "Amelia, can't you keep your old man in check?"

"Where would be the fun in that?" she asked, sharing a smirk with Tonks.

They bickered good-naturedly until the food was ready and Tonks headed upstairs to Apparate. The three remaining Order members sat down to eat one of Molly's magnificent creations.

"You know, if Arthur hadn't beaten me to it, I might have offered to marry Molly just for her cooking," Sirius exclaimed, licking the last of the cottage pie off the back of his fork.

"I'm not sure you could handle monogamy, Pads," said Remus, affably. "Besides, I think Molly's far too sensible a witch to ever have taken you up on it."

Sirius stuck his tongue out at him. "She's a secret weapon in and of herself," he said. "We're damn lucky she's on our side. At this rate, she's going to cook Voldemort to death."

 _Four and twenty Dark Lords, baked in a pie…_

Banishing the thought from her head, Amelia collected their plates and set them washing in the sink. "I think she's cooking to take her mind off Percy," she said, sadly.

"Yeah," Sirius nodded, a dark expression on his handsome face. "That was rough. I mean, I can understand falling out with your parents," he remarked, waving a hand in the direction of the stairs and his mother's portrait. "Even hating them enough to leave – but even I'd be hard-pressed to fall out with Molly and Arthur."

"You fall out with Molly every three days," Remus pointed out.

"Yeah, but as an adult," Sirius argued. "If I'd grown up with them as parents…" he shook his head. "Percy was bang out of order."

"He's ambitious, and his head's a bit full right now," said Amelia, fairly. "Maybe he'll come around."

"I hope so, for Molly and Arthur's sake," Remus reflected, running a tired hand through his hair.

 _They work so hard for their family. It doesn't feel right to see them unhappy._

Amelia frowned, wondering whether she had caught one of Remus's thoughts again. She put a hand on his shoulder, and he pressed his cheek to it for a moment.

"You know what I'd like to see?" Sirius said eventually, breaking the awkward silence that had fallen over them. "I'd like to see Arthur training us to duel."

"Is he good?" Amelia asked, interested.

While it was difficult to imagine the gentle, enthusiastic man fighting anyone, being a part of Hogwarts had taught her that even the sweetest, most unlikely people could harbour a core of ferocity, ready to be unleashed if they were cornered. Remus was a case in point – and Hagrid, when he wanted to.

"From what I've heard," said Sirius, as Remus nodded. "I never saw him myself, but Emmeline Vance told me he took out four Death Eaters at once last time around. He was getting pretty close to it at the World Cup last year – but there were too many people around for a proper fight."

Amelia gave a low whistle, remembering the way Arthur had looked that night, as if something from a former life had started coming back to him – skills he had thought he had forgotten.

"I'd prefer to see Molly," said Remus, after a moment's contemplation. "I think people underestimate her – but remember who her brothers were. Minerva once told me she could tie them in knots with her hands behind her back – and get away with it because she'd perfected the art of looking sweet and innocent."

"Gideon and Fabian, yeah," said Sirius, with half a smile. "Now they were a sight to behold."

"I know those names," said Amelia, trying to remember where from. "Privet? Padgett?"

"Prewett," said Remus, glancing up at her. "Molly's maiden name. They died protecting Frank and Alice."

 _Of course_ , thought Amelia, sinking into her chair. _How could I forget?_

"Now _they_ were duellists," said Remus, wistfully. "We had a duelling club at school, and they could take anything anyone threw at them. You always had a moment when you got paired with some of them, where you wondered how long you'd be spending in the Hospital Wing. Frank, Alice, Lily and James were at the very top of that list."

"Not Sirius?" Amelia asked, amused.

"He had his own list," Remus chuckled. "He's dangerously inventive when it comes to jinxes."

"Why thank you, Remus," said Sirius, with a small bow. "As I recall, you were pretty scary yourself."

Remus inclined his head, graciously. Amelia laughed at both of them.

"So, what am I doing wrong?" she asked. "Since you two are the experts and all."

"Not a lot," Sirius told her, with a grin. He clapped her on the back. "You use spells instinctively, which is good – and not just stuff that's intended for fighting. Most people forget to block the small stuff, which can catch them off guard – don't be afraid to use things the way they aren't intended."

Remus nodded. "Keep moving, keep something or someone to your back if you can. Try to keep the element of surprise if you can – and use that to your advantage. Basically, do everything you did when we fought Crouch Jr last year."

Sirius laughed, heartily. "Yeah, I heard about that. 'If in doubt, always try to drop a heavy object on your opponent's head', the Amelia Lupin school of duelling."

"Never underestimate the power of a blunt object," she laughed, wagging a finger at him.

"Don't underestimate your opponents, either," said Remus, quite seriously. "They'll be watching for any slip in concentration – and they'll be aiming to kill."

"Yeah, you can't let your guard down," said Sirius. "Remember the World Cup?" He tapped his cheek, lightly, where Amelia had received a cut from a nasty curse Sirius had deflected with a shield charm. "That's where you get in trouble. That's how Remus took you out earlier, and it's how Tonks got you by the ankles."

Amelia nodded slowly. "I'll try to keep it in mind."

"Please do," said Remus, with a hint of sarcasm. "I'd like to keep you in one piece if I can."

He reached out and took her hand. There was something off about his tone; he was protecting himself, she realised. Amelia squeezed his hand.

"Can't get rid of me that easily," she said.

Sirius smiled at them sadly, nursing his drink. None of them wanted to dwell on how easy it would be to lose the others.

"We should probably think about making a move," said Remus, clearing his throat.

He was hiding it pretty well, but there was a tightness to his face and voice that betrayed his fear.

"Yeah," said Sirius, feigning a yawn. "I've got a long night of reading up the history of the _Moste Anciente and Venerated Viennese Alchemical Society_ ahead of me. I can't wait."

There was a tension to his bearing too, when he stood, though she knew from Remus's stories that he tended to deal with stress with over-exuberance. Perhaps he was simply tired.

"Aww, poor Padfoot," she said, reaching up and ruffling his long, dark hair. "Stuck inside reading all night. What has the world come to?"

"It's a poor pass indeed when the legendary Sirius Black is home alone and hitting the books on a Friday night," Remus teased. "Have you not got someone to keep you company? For shame!"

"You may have your own thinking man's crumpet, Moony," he retorted, with a wink at Amelia that told her he didn't mean it. "But all mine seem to have evaporated with the warmer weather. They'll be back!"

Amelia smiled, feeling some of the tension leaving her lover and his oldest friend as they wound each other up.

"I'd rather we were on guard duty or something," he admitted. "I mean, don't get me wrong, I'm glad I've got a mission that takes me away from this hellhole," he continued, glaring at the walls. "But I'd take a fight over a night reading any day."

Remus shook his head at his best friend. "I imagine you'll get your wish soon enough," he said, with a hint of admonishment. "Besides, knowing you, you'll probably contrive to accidentally set fire to your cottage somehow anyway."

"Oh, come on Moony, I know you. You can pretend to be all grown up and responsible, but I remember the hell we raised at school." He poked him in the shoulder, bringing home his point. "We'd both give anything for a bit of adventure."

Remus rolled his eyes, and Amelia suspected he was about to argue with Sirius, but was prevented, right at that moment, by the kitchen door slamming back against the wall with some speed.

All three of them were on their feet, wands out, in an instant, but lowered them marginally when a very flustered Molly Weasley appeared. Seeing them, she grabbed Sirius's arm.

"It's Harry," she said, quickly. "Mrs Figg fellytoned – Arthur's got that thing set up in the shed and I gave her the number in case there was an emergency."

Amelia felt her heart plummet into her stomach.

"Is he okay?" she asked, at about the same time as her husband and Sirius said, in perfect unison, "What happened?"

"Dementors," Molly gasped. "They attacked him and his cousin. He got them both back home – Dumbledore wants us to –"

But Amelia didn't stay to find out what Dumbledore wanted them to do, she Apparated straight to Privet Drive. She landed with more grace than usual and immediately started off down the street; two cracks just behind her suggested that Remus and Sirius had had a similar idea.

She glanced up at number eighteen, where Arabella Figg was peering out from between her net curtains and a sizeable aspidistra, and nodded. Sirius hurried past her, Remus not far behind him.

"Wands away," he hissed, and they complied, despite their fear.

Amelia was glad, under the circumstances, that they all dressed reasonably 'muggle' compared to most witches and wizards, and therefore didn't look terribly out of place in Little Whinging.

She looked around at all the yellow and TV-blue windows; nobody appeared to be paying them the slightest bit of attention. Movement above her caught her attention, and she was about to reach for her wand when Remus grabbed her wrist, stopping her.

"It's an owl," he whispered.

Amelia let out the breath she had been holding and nodded, tersely, as they arrived at the front door. The light was on in the hall, and someone was yelling about owls.

"Someone's been sick," said Remus, with a grimace. He covered his mouth with his hand. "Merlin, that's pungent."

The shouting stopped as soon as Sirius banged on the front door.

"Quietly," Amelia hissed. "You don't want to wake the neighbours."

" _They're_ not being quiet," Sirius grumbled, but he knocked more softly this time, nonetheless.

A shape appeared behind the rippling glass of the front door – it seemed large and belligerent, even distorted as it was.

 _Vernon Dursley,_ Amelia guessed.

A wave of foul smelling air rushed out at them as the man wrenched open the door, standing far enough back to avoid the pool of sick. Amelia swallowed hard, suddenly appreciating how Remus must feel right now. She looked Dursley up and down. As first impressions went, this wasn't a great one. Clearly furious and red in the face, he glared out at them with bulging eyes. It was oddly like a walrus had climbed into a suit of clothes.

"You!" he cried, falling back slightly. As angry as he was, he obviously had a healthy fear of Sirius, possibly bolstered by Harry's insistence on reminding the Dursleys that he was an escaped convict. "You can't be here!"

"I think you'll find that I can," said Sirius, with a haughtiness to his voice that Amelia found wholly unexpected. "Harry is _my_ godson, and –"

Whatever Dursley's intentions – and Amelia was fairly certain he had been about to slam the door in their faces – Sirius's voice had carried to the kitchen, and Harry came racing out into the hall.

"Sirius! There were Dementors! They attacked us – I've got –"

"Shut up, boy!" Vernon Dursley shouted, going – if possibly – slightly more purple.

"Don't tell my godson to shut up, you over-stuffed walrus!"

"Sirius –"

Aware that the situation was getting a bit out of hand, Amelia raised her voice. "Perhaps we should take this inside, Mr Dursley. After all, we don't want your neighbours seeing, do we?"

She slipped between Remus and Sirius, and then under Vernon Dursley's bulging arm, neatly avoiding the pool of sick. Harry looked pale and a little jittery; he had a bruise forming on one side of his face and he was clutching a letter so hard that his fingers had gone white.

"Alright Harry?" she said, brightly.

"I am," he managed, "but Dudley's not – he's in the kitchen."

"Through here?" Amelia asked, not waiting for him to respond.

She pushed open the door, finding herself in an immaculate kitchen that had obviously just been witness to a scene of some uproar. There were white feathers all over the place, suggesting that the owl they had seen overhead had been and gone at some speed. At the table, an enormous boy was seated (definitely the son of the mammoth in the hall – they had the same lack of neck), leaning with his head over what had to be the family sick-bowl. A tall, skinny woman in a flowery summer dress was fussing over him. She emitted a short shriek when she caught sight of Amelia.

"You must be Petunia," said Amelia, before she could speak. "I'm Amelia – I work up at that crackpot school," she joked, speaking quickly, but in a low voice.

While she didn't want to startle the woman, she knew from Harry's descriptions of his aunt and uncle that the only way they were going to make any headway here was by railroading them.

"Looks like your son's had a bit of a rum do – I think a cup of tea would help, don't you? Harry, you know your way around the kitchen, would you do the honours?"

"Yes Professor," he said, his voice shaking very slightly – though whether this was shock or something else, she wasn't sure.

"Make one for yourself – and your aunt and uncle, too," she continued, making her way towards Dudley and Petunia carefully. "It's been a horrible shock all round, I should think. Now my lad," she said, kneeling next to Dudley. "I should think you've been as sick as you're going to get, so why don't you put the bowl down and put your head between your knees, eh?"

"You – you get away – from my son!" hissed Petunia Dursley, shrilly, throwing her arms around his neck.

"No," said Amelia, lightly. "I'm a first aider – a non-magical one. I'm not going to use magic on him, just common sense. Okay?"

Petunia's frightened eyes met hers for a moment, and then she nodded, prising the sick-bowl out of Dudley's hands.

"There, head between your knees, that's right. It'll stop you feeling quite so wobbly, alright?" she said, ignoring the sounds of the argument continuing from the hall. "Honestly, Harry, I can't take your godfather anywhere. Go and see if you can extract my husband, would you, while the kettle boils?"

She heard the sound of the door opening again.

"He's the best at this kind of thing, really…" She looked around. "You just keep rubbing his back, Petunia, and I'll get these feathers tidied up. Dust-pan and brush?"

"Under – under the kitchen sink…"

"Good. Sensible sort of place to keep it."

She kept one eye on the door as she tidied, and the other on Dudley and Petunia, guessing correctly that the woman would feel a lot better when her house was tidy again.

"I must say, your garden's looking lovely," observed Amelia. "What I saw of it, at any rate. It's so difficult keeping everything watered with this hosepipe ban…"

Petunia agreed that it was, indeed, and Amelia managed to coerce her into a halting and innocent dialogue about the recent hot weather that kept her calm long enough for Dudley to get his heart rate down a little.

Harry and Remus sidled in, and the boy went back to making tea. Remus smiled awkwardly at Petunia Dursley.

"Petunia," he said, stiffly.

"R-Remus," she replied, weakly.

Amelia wondered when they'd last seen each other. Before Lily died? Or at her funeral?

"Haven't seen you in a long time," he said, his jaw tight. "You're looking well."

Petunia made a squashed sort of squeaking noise, which Remus chose to interpret as 'you too'.

"And this must be your son, Dudley," he said, joining Amelia. "I've heard a lot about him. How are you feeling, lad?"

Dudley looked up, wide-eyed, but seemed comforted by what he saw. Remus was generally a non-threatening figure, and he was talking to him the way he talked to frightened first years. Probably, Dudley had met someone like him at his own school. The fact that he wasn't wearing wizard's robes probably helped a great deal, too.

"Here," said Harry, appearing with a cup of tea apiece for Dudley and his aunt.

They took them wordlessly, with shaking hands; Petunia didn't even look at him.

"Lots of sugar?" Amelia asked, under her breath, and Harry nodded. "Good. One for you, too," she reminded him.

"Here," said Remus, digging in his pocket. He went to hand a packet to Dudley, but Petunia squeaked again. "It's just chocolate," he said, showing her. "It'll help."

Tremulously, the woman nodded. Dudley took it slowly, with a glance at Harry, who nodded, looking puzzled.

 _He's probably surprised that Dudley would trust him enough to ask,_ Amelia realised.

"Perhaps you should have a square, too, Petunia," she said, aloud.

Wordlessly, Dudley handed a piece of the chocolate to his mother, who stared at it as if it was poison. Then he frowned at the packet in his hands, and offered it to Harry too, who stared back at him in shock.

"Er – thanks," he said, taking a piece and taking a bite, as if to reassure his cousin.

A little colour began returning to his face, so Dudley followed suit; he too, looked instantly better, and Amelia smiled slightly, pleased that her husband always had some chocolate on him for 'emergencies'.

"Why don't you show me that letter, Harry," Remus suggested, while all five of them tried to ignore the yelling in the hall.

He read it through with a face like thunder, and then thrust it towards Amelia. "Of all the… Read it."

Knowing at once from his sour expression that this was going to be bad news, Amelia read it quickly – and then had to read it again to make sure she hadn't gone mad.

" _What?_ " she gasped, incredulous. "But you were attacked!"

"I know!" said Harry, clearly relieved that someone was listening to him.

"Wait, it says here this is your second offence," Amelia said, urgently. "What was the first?"

Harry rolled his eyes, which immediately suggested to her that it hadn't been his fault. It was a good sign. "Dobby – he was trying to save me by stopping me from going back to Hogwarts," he explained, tersely. "There was this whole thing with a trifle – I don't want to talk about it."

"And that was him trying to _help_ you?" she asked, astonished.

"He means well," said Harry, quickly, "but he's a bit of a menace."

"Who – who's Dobby?" Dudley asked, slowly.

Everyone turned to stare at him – but no one seemed more surprised than Petunia.

"Diddy! You're feeling better?"

"Yeah, Mum," he said, pushing her arms from around his neck. "That chocolate helped – and the tea… Who's Dobby?"

Harry, who looked like the kitchen might now be operating in an alternate universe, told him.

"How awful!" Petunia exclaimed, in the manner of a woman who thought the idea of non-human servants was revolting, but who was completely fine ordering her nephew about and making him sleep in a cupboard.

"Cool," said Dudley, which only horrified his mother more. "Mum, I'm _fine_. Eat your chocolate."

Harry gaped at him, agog, while Amelia and Remus shared a surprised glance. Dudley Dursley was not the person they had expected to be able to calm this down.

The rather unnatural moment was shattered by a resounding CRACK!


	9. A Parliament of Owls

Remus, Harry and Amelia all span, their wands back out – Sirius sprinted into the kitchen, closely followed by Vernon Dursley, both their faces purple and blotchy from shouting.

Amelia looked around wildly, searching for the source of the disturbance. At last, she spotted it – a dazed and dishevelled barn owl was sitting on the kitchen sill, having just collided with the closed window.

Ignoring Vernon Dursley's anguished yell of "OWLS!" Harry crossed the room at a run and wrenched the window open. The owl stuck out its leg, to which a small roll of parchment was tied, shook its feathers, and took off the moment Harry had taken the letter.

"That's another Ministry Owl," said Remus, thoughtfully, as Harry, with shaking hands, unfurled the second message.

Amelia craned to see over his shoulder – the writing was scrawled across the page. It seemed to have been written very hastily and blotchily in black ink.

"It's from Mr Weasley," said Harry, his voice shaking too. "It says Dumbledore's gone to the Ministry to sort things out – he wants me to stay here – I'm not to surrender my wand."

"I should hope not," said Remus. "Besides, they'd have to get through us, first."

Harry looked up at him, more hopefully than he had since they had arrived. "Yeah?"

"Absolutely."

"Why would he have to surrender his wand? Sorting what out?" Sirius asked, urgently. "What's going on?"

"You'd already know if you hadn't been so intent on making a scene," Amelia admonished him. "And stop waving your wand around, you look ridiculous."

He glared at her, but he caught the warning in her eyes and complied.

"Here," said Harry, and handed him the first letter.

Amelia looked at the boy's face; he looked like his mind was racing now, on the very edge of panic. Fortunately, Remus appeared to have noticed, and pushed him gently back into his chair.

"Who the hell are you?" Vernon growled, the vein in his purple temple throbbing alarmingly. "And who are all these ruddy owls from?"

"I'm Amelia Lupin," said Amelia, before Sirius could start shouting again. He shut his mouth on her warning look. "I'm one of Harry's teachers – and sort of an adopted aunt, I suppose."

Harry shot her a surprised and grateful look.

"I didn't know I was a witch until a couple of years ago, so I know a lot about the non-magical world," she added, carefully omitting the word 'muggle'. "I was just telling your wife in fact, how lovely your garden looked."

Vernon, who had been about to explode again, paused on the very edge of it and cooled down a few degrees.

Remus took advantage of the sudden pause to introduce himself. "I'm Remus Lupin, Amelia's husband," he said, quietly. "I also teach at Harry's school. I met Petunia at her sister's wedding."

Petunia coughed as her husband and son turned to stare at her. Harry, too, was staring now, startled out of his panic by curiosity.

"Yes," Petunia said, softly. "He was very – very kind."

"I've never seen you in the pictures," said Harry, slowly. "I've only seen a few, though, so…"

"I – didn't stay for long."

"I should think not," Vernon Dursley snapped.

Amelia wondered why she hadn't told him she'd gone.

"It was the last time I saw her," she said, rather more crisply, with a slight frown at her husband. "Before…" She met Harry's eyes. "Before you came to live here. She was beautiful…"

She trailed off, her voice small in the sudden stillness of the kitchen. Even Sirius had looked up from Harry's letter, surprised to see a glimmer of regret in the woman's face.

"Well," said Vernon; Amelia suspected this wasn't going quite the way he had expected it to. "Well." He prodded Harry in the shoulder, hard enough to make the boy wince. "You still haven't told me where all these ruddy owls are coming from."

Harry turned to him with a certain amount of reluctance, unwilling to tear his eyes from his aunt's haunted face.

"The first one was from the Ministry of Magic, expelling me," he said calmly confident, now he knew his godfather and surrogate aunt and uncle wouldn't let a Ministry representative near him without a fight. "The second was from my friend Ron's dad, who works at the Ministry."

" _Ministry of Magic_?" bellowed Vernon Dursley. "People like you in _government_? Oh, this explains everything, no wonder the country's going to the dogs."

"Would you put a sock in it?" Sirius asked, exasperated, his eyes still glued to the parchment in his hand. "This is ludicrous! They can't expel him!"

"Actually," said Remus, quickly, as Vernon took a deep breath, ready for another round, "people like us, as you put it, have no input at all in the running of the non-magical government. Our worlds are entirely separate."

Dursley looked like he didn't entirely know what to say about that, so he just opened and closed his mouth a few times, inarticulately.

"Why?" asked Dudley, who appeared to be full of surprised tonight.

"Have you covered witch trials in history?" Amelia asked, before either of her favourite Marauders could join in.

"No," he responded, after a moment's thought. "I think that's next term."

"Well, that's why," she told him. "Magic can make people who don't have it uncomfortable…" she said, glancing quickly at his parents. "And sometimes when people get sufficiently uncomfortable about something they decide to kill it. Also, it can be dangerous, and it's easier to stop people without magic accidentally getting hurt if they think none of it is real. Fewer people go looking for it."

"Oh," said Dudley, frowning deeply in thought. "Right."

Perhaps feeling that his son was getting a little too inquisitive for his own good, Vernon spat out, "And why have you been expelled?"

"Because I did magic," said Harry, simply.

"AHA!" roared Vernon, making Amelia jump. He slammed his fist down on top of the fridge, which sprang open; several packets of what looked like diet food toppled out and burst on the floor. Amelia nudged it closed with her elbow and handed the dust pan to Petunia, who was already trying to clean them up. "So you admit it! _What did you do to Dudley?_ "

Sirius put the letter down on the kitchen table and got right in Vernon Dursley's face.

"I'm warning you, Dursley –"

"Nothing," said Harry, slightly less calmly. "That wasn't me –"

"You threatened me," said Dudley, suddenly. "You pointed your wand at me."

" _WHAT?_ " Vernon Dursley bellowed, as his wife made a little whimpering noise and ran to her son's side. "Why you little –"

"I've had just about enough of you," said Sirius, rolling up his sleeves.

Remus crossed the kitchen in a flash and managed to catch hold of his arm just before he punched the man.

"Geroff me Moony!"

"Diddy darling, tell me what he did to you!"

"THAT IS QUITE ENOUGH!" shouted Amelia, making everyone jump. They stared at her, wide-eyed, frozen in a tableau that wouldn't have been out of place in a muggle soap opera. With the tone of command that put the fear of God in her first years, she continued, "Everyone is going to sit down, and we're going to listen to what Dudley and Harry have to say, given that they were _actually there_."

"But –"

" _Now_ , Sirius."

To her astonishment, even the Dursleys complied, sitting protectively either side of their son, as if they thought the others were going to attack them. Sirius sent her a venomous look on his way past, being piloted to the seat furthest from Vernon Dursley by Remus. Remus raised his eyebrows at her, and she caught a thought he had quite clearly intended her to hear:

 _I shouldn't find you shouting at people nearly as attractive as I do._

She blushed, and turned away for a moment to cover it. Thinking quickly, she pulled a stool away from the kitchen counter, putting it between Harry and Dudley.

"Now, Dudley," she said, quietly. "You said Harry threatened you." She stopped and glared at Vernon Dursley, who had started to sputter again; showing a rare sign of wisdom, he closed his mouth. "Now, I know Harry, and he's not the sort of boy to do that without provocation."

Dudley had the good grace to look mildly sheepish.

"That's what I thought. Sirius, if I have to tape your mouth shut, I will." Ignoring the sound of Remus kicking his friend's ankle under the table, she turned to Harry. "You threatened him with your wand?"

Harry looked distinctly uncomfortable. "He said something about Mum and Dad deserving what they got," he mumbled.

This time, it was Remus that Amelia had to glare at.

"Do you know how Harry's parents died?" she asked, looking at Dudley.

"Dad said – Dad said it was a car crash," he said, unhappily. "He said his dad was drinking and –"

"DRINKING?" Sirius bellowed. "HOW DARE Y-"

He and Remus were both on their feet, but suddenly they froze and fell backwards, leaning against the wall like statues. Both of them glowered at her.

 _Mel, he's –_

 _I know,_ she thought back, urgently. _He's an appalling person._

Harry let out a strange little giggle, which made Dudley snort with laughter too.

"Not helping, boys," she said, tersely. "Mr Dursley, I must apologise for using magic in your house as it is clearly something you dislike. However, I must also add that that particular spell will wear off fairly soon and I advise you to have a bloody good reason for making up such an appalling lie about your ward's parents. Particularly as these gentlemen were their best friends and tried to kill the last person who hurt them."

"He was a good for nothing –"

"Vernon –" said Petunia, a note of warning in her voice.

"Mr Dursley!" Amelia snapped, feeling a spark of angry magic escape her fingertips, making Dudley rock backwards slightly. "You are an appalling person, and I am not above using the same spell on you. If you have nothing sensible to say, then kindly shut the fuck up."

"Language!" sputtered Petunia, shocked.

Amelia inclined her head in her direction, though she would dearly have slapped the woman. "My apologies, Petunia. Dudley, do go on."

Dudley wrenched his eyes from Remus and Sirius's stiff bodies back to Amelia, plainly terrified.

"I'm not going to hex you," she assured him. "Now, I really shouldn't be the one to tell you this, but your aunt and uncle were lovely, by all accounts, and they were brutally murdered in their own home."

She heard Harry shift uncomfortably in his seat, but her eyes never left Dudley's, which were round and horrified.

"The man that murdered them was the magical equivalent of Adolf Hitler, and Harry's parents opposed his plans – among which, I might add, were setting up the equivalent of concentration camps for people without magic. They – along with Remus and Sirius over there, and many of their friends – were fighting a war. In fact, you could say that Lily and James died trying to protect you and your family, as much as theirs."

Dudley swallowed hard; Petunia made a small, hiccupping sort of noise, and Amelia realised she was trying not to cry. Had no one ever told them this story? Or had she refused to listen, too angry with her sister to deal with her death?

"Poppycock!" spat Dursley.

Amelia raised her index finger, not bothering to look in his direction, and he fell silent.

"Is there something you would like to say to Harry?" Amelia asked.

Dudley coughed and stared at his cousin's knees.

"Er… sorry. I – er – I didn't know…"

Amelia looked expectantly at Harry, who was gaping at Dudley as if the boy had grown a second head.

"Er… sorry I threatened you…" he said, after a moment.

 _Mel, let me down. I won't do anything stupid, I promise,_ said Remus's voice in the back of her mind.

She nodded in his direction and he sort of fell back into his chair. He shook his head as if to clear it and ran a hand through his hair, looking dazed.

"They were family," he said, hoarsely. "That's why Harry's family too."

Dudley nodded, though his parents looked far from convinced. Behind him, Sirius glared at his best friend, clearly trying to catch his attention so he'd let him out. Remus ignored him.

"So, back to tonight," said Amelia, and both boys turned back to her. "You pointed your wand at him? That was a very stupid thing to do."

Harry nodded, looking chastened. "I know. But I didn't actually do anything."

"The sky went all dark," said Dudley, frowning. "Like the stars had gone out."

"AHA!" bellowed Vernon Dursley again, but everyone ignored him.

"No wizard Harry's age could turn off the stars," said Remus, fairly. "Although Sirius and James often pretended they could."

"Go on Dudders," Petunia simpered, trying to keep everyone with a wand in view at all times. "What happened next?"

"Everything went all dark," he said, as Amelia tried to banish the word 'Dudders' from her mind. "And then I heard – I h-heard… _things_. In-inside my head."

Dudley shuddered. Vernon and Petunia exchanged looks of utter horror. If their least favourite thing in the world was magic – closely followed by neighbours who cheated more than they did on the hosepipe ban – people who heard voices were definitely in the bottom ten. They obviously thought Dudley was losing his mind.

"What sort of things did you hear, Popkin?" breathed Petunia, very white-faced and with tears in her eyes.

But Dudley seemed incapable of saying. He shuddered again and shook his large blond head.

Rather unexpectedly, Harry reached out and patted him on his back. "I know exactly how it feels," he said, quietly.

"It's alright Dudley," said Remus, briskly. "No one here will think less of you." _Except possibly your parents_ , Amelia felt him add. "Everyone feels like that – you were being forced to relive your very worst memories."

Suddenly, she felt a sharp spark of curiosity from Harry's direction. She heard him think, _What would spoiled, pampered, bullying Dudley have been forced to hear?_

"Everyone has their demons, Harry," she said, without thinking, and he shot her a confused look. "I relive my mother's death," she added, to Dudley.

"I hear Mum and Dad being murdered," volunteered Harry; Petunia produced a horrified little gasp.

"For me it's finding out about Lily and James," said Remus, soberly.

"Mmm mmm," said Sirius, whose spell was beginning to wear off.

"He says 'him too'," said Remus, automatically.

Amelia risked a glance at Sirius. He looked much less angry now; his face – though it couldn't move – had taken on that haunted aspect it always had when he thought about his years at Azkaban. Deciding it would be safe to release him now, Amelia muttered _"Finite Incantatem."_

Sirius crashed to the floor with a yell, which rather broke the grim mood – at least for Harry and Dudley, out of whom it startled relieved laughter. Remus hauled him up into his chair by the scruff of his shirt.

"Are they really your teachers?" Dudley asked, in an undertone, as Sirius attempted to look like nothing had happened whatsoever.

Harry nodded, giving his cousin a slight, conspiratorial smile.

"Cool! They're nothing like mine!"

Vernon Dursley, who didn't seem to be able to let a thing go once he had it in his enormous fingers, leaned across the table to Dudley.

"How come you fell over, son?" he asked, in an unnaturally quiet voice, the kind of voice he might adopt at the bedside of a very ill person.

"I tripped," said Dudley, who sounded decidedly less shaky now. "And then –"

He frowned and rubbed his massive chest. Amelia and the wizards in the room understood. Dudley was remembering the clammy cold that filled the lungs as hope and happiness were sucked out of you.

"It was horrible," he said. "Cold. Really cold."

"Okay," said his father, in a voice of forced calm, while Petunia laid an anxious hand on Dudley's forehead to feel his temperature; he batted it away. "What happened then, Dudders?"

"Dudders?" Sirius asked – though in quite a quiet voice.

Fortunately, the Dursleys ignored him.

"It felt as if… as if…" he faltered, and looked at Harry, perhaps surmising that his cousin had experienced the same thing now he knew Harry hadn't used a spell.

But it wasn't Harry who spoke: "As if you'd never be happy again," Sirius supplied, darkly. "Empty."

"Yes," said Dudley, looking at Harry's godfather for a moment. "Exactly like that."

"So!" said Vernon Dursley, voice restored to full and considerable volume as he straightened up. "You put some crackpot spell on my son so he'd hear voices and believe he was – was doomed to misery, or something, did you?"

"How many times do I have to tell you?" said Harry, temper and voice both rising. "It wasn't me!"

"Have you got cloth in your ears, Dursley?" asked Sirius, in a dangerous voice. "Remus already told you, there's no way Harry could perform a spell like that!"

"I don't have to sit here and listen to this!" Vernon yelled, rising from his seat.

"Dad! SHUT UP!" Dudley shouted, to his father's obvious astonishment. "It wasn't Harry, alright?"

"But – but –"

"I want to know what happened to me," he said, looking back at Harry. "You said something like 'pimento' before – is that what it was?"

Harry blinked, surprised at being addressed so civilly. "Er –" he said, as Vernon Dursley sat down again, looking utterly wrong-footed. "Dementors. A couple of Dementors attacked us."

"A couple of – what's this codswallop?" Vernon demanded, clearly of the opinion that his son really had lost his mind.

"De-men-tors," said Harry, slowly and clearly. "Two of them."

"And what the ruddy hell are Dementors?" Vernon spat.

"They guard the wizard prison, Azkaban," said Petunia.

Two seconds of ringing silence followed these words before Mrs Dursley clapped white fingers over her mouth as though she had sworn. Vernon and Dudley were both goggling at her, as were everyone else, to be fair.

"How d'you know that?" Harry asked, plainly astonished.

Petunia looked quite appalled with herself. She glanced at Vernon in fearful apology that made Amelia wonder how much of her behaviour resulted from a fear of him, then lowered her hand slightly to reveal her horsy teeth.

"I heard – that –" She glanced at the two wizards at one end of her kitchen table and visibly changed direction. "I heard James Potter telling – my sister about them – years ago," she said jerkily.

Vernon Dursley opened his mouth, closed it again, opened it once more, shut it, then, apparently struggling to remember how to talk, opened it for a third time and croaked, "So – so – they – er – they – er – they actually exist, do they – er – Demety-whatsits?"

Petunia nodded.

Vernon Dursley looked from his wife to his son to Harry, to the three invading wizards as if hoping somebody was going to shout "April Fool!" When nobody did, he opened his mouth yet again, but was spared the struggle when Sirius cleared his throat.

"They're a nasty lot, the Dementors," he said, from bitter personal experience. "If they get too close they can suck out your soul – that's what you were feeling, 'Dudders'."

"They can suck out – oh – oh my poor Popkin!" Petunia stuttered, flinging her arms around his neck again and uttering a soft scream.

"His soul?" Vernon asked, horrified, and sat down very quickly, as if his knees had suddenly gone quite weak.

"You were extremely lucky, boys," said Remus. "If Harry hadn't cast his Patronus when he did –"

"AHA!" cried Vernon Dursley again, but Petunia said, "That's what makes them go away, isn't it – like a – like a silver mist. Animal shaped."

The room stilled again.

"Yes," said Remus, surprised. "It's a direct projection of a person's essence – a collection of their happiest thoughts, if you will. Er – may I ask –"

"He demonstrated it – Potter, I mean. In our parents' kitchen."

"What shape was it?" Harry asked, at once, and Petunia, probably still in shock, said, "A deer I think – yes, a stag."

"Like mine…" Harry said, pleased.

"That what you shot at it, wasn't it?" Dudley asked, who had been thinking about all this quite carefully. "So, _you_ made it go away. You – you saved my life."

He looked astonished.

"Yes," said Remus, quietly. "If he hadn't, neither one of you would have survived."

"But – but they can't expel you for that," Dudley stammered. "That's mental!"

Vernon muttered something about crackpot schools under his breath, but Petunia had pressed her white fingers to her nephew's arm. Harry stared down at them for a moment, and then back up at his aunt.

"Thank you," she said stiffly. "You saved my baby."

Harry blinked owlishly at her, and then said. "Well, er – yeah. You know. He is my cousin."

"Something someone else should remember," Sirius growled, but Remus kicked him again. "Ow! Would you stop that Moony? Merlin's sake!"


	10. Unlikely Heroes

"Well, I think – now that's all settled – we could all do with another cup of tea," Amelia announced, collecting the cups and putting the kettle on.

To her mild surprise, Petunia Dursley appeared beside her and extracted a packet of dainty 'Nice' biscuits from the cupboard. She arranged them neatly on a plate, fussed over them for a moment, and put them on the table next to Harry. The boy stared up at his aunt, nonplussed. The expression on his face suggested that he was now living in what he clearly thought was a parallel universe and he was waiting for normal service to resume. Amelia busied herself with the kettle, amused.

She had just set a tray of mugs of tea on the table (Vernon accepted his with a grunt) when the third of the evening's owls flew through the still-open window like a feathery cannonball and landed on the table, narrowly missing the tea. All three Dursleys jumped, though Dudley less so than his parents.

Harry tore a second official-looking envelope from the owl's beak and ripped it open as the owl swooped back out into the night.

"Enough – fucking – owls!" Vernon grumbled, but everyone else ignored him.

They were too intent on Harry; this time, aware of his audience, he read it aloud.

" _Dear Mr Potter,_

" _Further to our letter of approximately twenty-two minutes ago, the Ministry of Magic has revised its decision to destroy your wand forthwith. You may retain your wand until your disciplinary hearing on the twelfth of August, at which time an official decision will be taken._

" _Following discussions with the Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, the Ministry has agreed that the question of your expulsion will also be decided at that time. You should consider yourself suspended from school pending further enquiries…"_

"I'll give them points for efficiency," said Amelia. "I don't think I've ever come across a government body that responded so quickly."

"It's not always a positive thing," said Remus, glumly.

Amelia met his eyes sadly. The Ministry would not be kind to him if he ever had to register.

"At least it's a stay of execution, Harry," said Sirius.

"Do your lot have the death penalty?" Vernon asked, hopefully.

Everybody except his wife glared at him.

"Don't worry, I'll go with you to argue your case," said Sirius.

Harry suddenly looked greatly relieved. "You will?"

"Oh course I will – I'm your godfather. What do you take me for?"

 _A menace?_ Amelia thought, and Remus's eyes flicked momentarily towards her, suggesting he'd heard.

"They won't keep you out?"

"They can try," said Sirius,

"Er – we'll come too," said Remus, glancing at Sirius.

"Yeah," said Amelia, eyeing her friend warily.

She didn't rate Harry's chances of not being expelled if Sirius went off on one in the court room.

"I'll go too," said Dudley.

The effect of this simple pronouncement had a profound effect on the whole room. Remus and Sirius exchanged looks of astonishment; Harry gaped at his cousin, and both Dudley's parents cried out at once. Amelia, however, had felt the change coming over him

"Diddy darling! You can't go to the hearing!" Petunia wailed.

"Come on now son, you can't do that!" Vernon cried. "Going to a court full of those loonies!"

"It's an awful idea!" Petunia cajoled. "We'll go away – yes, we'll go on holiday Diddums – anywhere you like!"

"You can eat whatever you like – diet be hanged!" Vernon hissed. "We'll – we'll start it again just before school, but you can put going to a – a – a ruddy crackpot court out of your head!"

"Dad, I'm going."

"You ruddy well are not!" Vernon yelled, and Dudley looked vastly taken aback. Amelia wondered whether his father had ever shouted at him before. "That is final! You will stay here, and –"

Slowly, Dudley got to his feet. He was fifteen now – only a couple of months away from being sixteen – and he easily matched his father's stature. He stared him dead in the eye.

"I'm going. Harry saved my life – otherwise those Dementy-things would have sucked out my soul," he said. He made a strangely arresting sight. "I'm not just going to let him go down without a fight. My boxing coach says you're only as good as your sparring partner. I – I've never thought much about it before…" he said, as though this was only just occurring to him. "But Harry was in _my_ corner when I needed him. I'm not going to let him down now. I owe him."

"But –"

"No!"

Harry cleared his throat. "Really Dudley, you don't have to – it'll be at the Ministry, right?"

Remus and Sirius nodded.

"It doesn't get more magic than that."

"Debateable," said Remus – but quietly. Amelia thought she was probably the only one who heard it.

"I'm not scared!" said Dudley, quickly, but it was fairly plain that he was. "I'm going."

Vernon sank back into his chair, as if his knees had gone weak. Petunia was sobbing almost hysterically into a handkerchief she had produced from nowhere.

 _Ordinary magic_ , thought Amelia. _And she doesn't even know she's doing it._

"Why – why – why did they have to come here, anyway?" Petunia wailed.

"Mum – I'm going, alright?"

"No," said Amelia. "She's got a point. Why the hell were there Dementors swooping around Little Whinging, anyway?"

"They guard some weirdo prison, don't they?" Vernon said suddenly, clutching at straws.

"Yes," said Sirius, darkly.

"That's right, you were there, weren't you – how long was it? Ten years?" Dursley sneered.

"You be very careful what you say," said Sirius, in a dangerous tone.

"Wrongfully convicted!" Harry hissed. "He was framed!"

"Then they're coming to arrest you!" Vernon exclaimed, slapping the table hard enough to make the mugs jump. "That's it, isn't it boy – you're on the run from the law!"

"Don't be stupid!" Harry retorted.

It might have got quite out of hand at this point if Remus hadn't spoken, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Do you really think, if Harry was on the run from the law, that the Ministry would have bothered writing to him?" he asked. "Stop being ridiculous. And drink your tea – my wife didn't poison it."

There was something steely in his voice that even Vernon Dursley paid attention to. He sat back down, staring at Remus as if he could see the werewolf in him. He took an undignified slurp of his tea.

"It does seem rather strange that of all the places a couple of rogue Dementors could turn up, it would be exactly where Harry is," Remus continued, thoughtfully.

Harry looked at his knees. " _He_ must have sent them," he said quietly, mostly to himself.

Amelia, Remus and Sirius nodded grimly. It was the only likely explanation.

"Who's that? Who must have sent them?" asked Vernon Dursley.

"Lord Voldemort," said Harry, and then looked up, surprised, perhaps, that for once no one had flinched.

"Hang on," said Dudley, slowly, "isn't that the one who…"

"Murdered my parents, yes."

"But he's gone," said Vernon, impatiently, without the slightest sign that the murder of Harry's parents might be a painful topic. "That giant bloke said so. He's gone."

"He's back," said Harry, heavily.

It felt very strange to be sitting in the Dursleys' surgically clean kitchen, beside the top-of-the-range fridge and the wide-screen television, talking calmly of Lord Voldemort. The arrival of the Dementors in Little Whinging seemed to have breached the great, invisible wall that divided the relentlessly non-magical world of Privet Drive and the world beyond.

"Back?" whispered Petunia.

She was looking at Harry as she had probably never looked at him before. All of a sudden, for the first time since she had seen her, she looked like the photographs Amelia had seen of Lily Potter. She also looked bereft. Clearly, Petunia, of all the Dursleys, was the only one who could appreciate what Lord Voldemort being back might mean.

Her large, pale eyes (so unlike her sister's) were not narrowed in dislike or anger, they were wide and fearful. The furious pretence that Petunia had apparently maintained all Harry's life – that there was no magic and no world other than the world she inhabited with her husband and son – seemed to have fallen away.

Amelia could feel her fear. It was cold and dreadful, and she shivered. Remus reached across the table and took her hand.

"Yes," Harry said, talking directly to his aunt now. "One of his followers raised him from the grave. I can – I can feel it. Like he's in the back of my head."

Amelia gaped at him.

"Harry!" Remus cried.

"Harry – you never said!" Sirius exclaimed.

He got up and put his hands on both Harry's shoulders.

"I – I didn't want to worry anyone," Harry mumbled, which Amelia took to mean, "I didn't want to sound crazy."

Across the table from him, Petunia took her son's hand and clutched it.

"Hang on," said Vernon, looking from his wife to Harry and back again, apparently dazed and confused by the unprecedented understanding that seemed to have sprung up between them. "Hang on. This Lord Voldything's back, you say?"

"Yes."

"The one who murdered your parents?"

Amelia rolled her eyes; she and the two adult wizards in the room chorused "Yes."

"And now he's sending Dismembers after you?"

"Really, your determination not to remember one full word associated with magic is astounding," Amelia grumbled.

"Looks like it," said Harry.

"I see," said Vernon, looking from his white-faced wife to Harry and hitching up his trousers. He seemed to be swelling, his great, purple face stretching before their eyes. "Well, that settles it," he said, his shirt front straining as he inflated himself, " _you can get out of this house, boy!_ "

"What?" said Harry, as his guardians looked on, not particularly surprised.

"You heard me – OUT!" Vernon bellowed, and even Remus jumped. "OUT! OUT! I should've done this years ago! Owls treating the place like a rest home, puddings exploding, half the lounge destroyed, Dudley's tail, Marge bobbing around on the ceiling and that flying Ford Anglia – OUT! OUT! You've had it! You're history! You're not staying here if some loony's after you, you're not endangering my wife and son, you're not bringing trouble down on us. If you're going the same way as your useless parents, I've had it! OUT!"

Harry stood in front of him, rooted to the spot, the letters from the Ministry and from Arthur Weasley, telling him to stay in his aunt and uncle's house, crushed in his hand.

Sirius pushed Harry out of the way. "Harry is _absolutely_ leaving here!" he snarled. "He's coming to live with me – I should have done it years ago! And if you say one more thing about James and Lily I will remove your intestines through your nostrils and use them as your shoelaces!"

"How dare you threaten me?" Vernon bellowed. "An ex-convict? In my own house!"

"No," said Remus, very quietly; it was the quiet tone that made everybody stop and listen. He went to stand behind Harry, a hand on his other shoulder. "How dare you? You have neglected and abused this young man his entire life. You have lied about his parents, you have used him as your skivvy, you have forced him to sleep in a broom closet – you imprisoned him for several weeks on more than one occasion. Two years ago, the only happy memory he could conjure of his childhood was being told he could leave this place. That ends now."

"YOU – YOU ARE IN MY HOUSE, AND –"

But they never found out what. Vernon opened and closed his mouth a couple of times, but no sound came out.

Very quickly, all the blood drained from his face; he ranted and raged, not able to make a sound. Harry looked up at Sirius, but he seemed as baffled as he was.

"I said," Remus continued, very quietly, and Amelia realised with a jolt that he was the one behind Vernon Dursley's sudden goldfish impression. " _That ends now._ "

He seemed taller, all of a sudden, and all the more wolfish. There was a slight hum to his voice – almost a growl, but not quite. Amelia was sure she shouldn't find this as attractive as she currently did.

"Harry will be leaving with Sirius. Go upstairs and pack."

Clearly not quite believing his luck, Harry walked – as if mechanically – towards the kitchen door. As he passed her, Amelia leaned towards him. "Dudley's tail?"

"Hagrid," Harry said, not quite able to keep the edge of the grin off his face. "Don't ask."

She turned back as the door closed behind him, trying not to laugh. Petunia was hanging around her husband's neck, clearly panicking, but Dudley was watching Remus's face.

"You can turn him back, yeah?" he asked, and Remus met his gaze. "I mean, you can give him his voice back?"

"Yes," said Remus. "When we leave."

Dudley nodded, though he didn't seem entirely certain. "Mum, Mum – it's alright. Dad's going to be okay."

Petunia wasn't listening, however, and Dudley gave it up as a bad job.

The fourth owl zoomed down the chimney so fast it actually hit the floor before swooping into the air again with a loud screech. Sirius raised his hand to seize the letter before Vernon could make a grab for it, but it soared over his head, flying directly at Petunia, who let out a scream and ducked, her arms over her face. The owl dropped the red enveloped on her head, turned, and flew straight back up the chimney.

Vernon was clearly trying to shout something, but no one could hear him.

"Mum, put it down," said Dudley urgently. "It's not like the others – what if it's dangerous?"

"It's addressed to me," said Petunia, in a shaking voice. "It's addressed to _me_ , Vernon, look!" _Mrs Petunia Dursley, The Kitchen, Number Four, Privet Drive –_ "

She caught her breath, horrified. The red envelope had begun to smoke.

"That's a Howler," Sirius warned her, quickly. "You better open it and get it over with, it'll happen anyway!"

Petunia's hand was trembling, she looked wildly around the kitchen as though looking for an escape route, but too late – the envelope burst into flame. Quite understandably, she screamed and dropped it.

An awful voice filled the kitchen, echoing in the confined space, issuing from the burning letter on the table.

" _Remember my last, Petunia."_

Petunia looked like she might faint. She sank into the chair beside Dudley, her face in her hands. The remains of the letter smouldered into ash in the silence.

"That was Dumbledore's voice," said Sirius, slowly.

The sound of running feet broke the silence and Harry skidded into the room, a pair of socks in one hand and a textbook in the other. "What the hell was that?"

Petunia said nothing. Dudley was staring at his mother, his mouth hanging open. The silence spiralled horribly. Amelia crossed the room and put a gentle hand on her arm. "Are you alright, Mrs Dursley?"

Eventually, she raised her head, looking straight at Amelia. "He has to stay," she whispered, barely audible. "He's not safe anywhere else – blood is blood."

"Mum…"

"He stays," she said, much louder.

Vernon went a funny green colour, but he was hardly in a position to argue.

"He's not staying," said Sirius, more bewildered than angry.

"He has to." There was unexpected venom in her voice now, though she wouldn't meet their eyes.

Remus frowned at Petunia, meeting Amelia's eyes over her head.

"Harry, go back upstairs," he said, quietly.

"But –"

"Now, Harry – you too, Dudley, if you would. We will know if you're listening at the door."

Dudley looked immediately torn; he clearly didn't want to leave his Mum looking so pale and his Dad without a voice.

"I'll make sure they're alright," said Amelia, gently.

"Okay…" he said, and followed Harry (who was well on his way to sulking now) out of the room.

Remus raised an eyebrow at Amelia, who glanced at Petunia, trying to think of a way to cover her suspicions without drawing the woman any further in.

"Dumbledore wants Harry to stay here," she said, slowly. "That's what he was saying in the Howler."

"Dumbledore be hanged!" Sirius cried in frustration. "I'm not leaving him here – they're awful to him!"

"Look," said Amelia, who had been thinking hard about what Petunia had whispered to her, "God knows I find the man's reasoning frustrating at times, but I think he may be onto something here. You're his godfather, yes, but they're his blood."

Sirius looked at her as if she had suddenly announced her intention to divorce Remus and run away with the Death Eaters. "I care more for Harry than they ever have!" he cried, angrily. "I can keep him safe, I –"

"Can you, though?" Amelia asked. "I'm not saying you don't love him – we all do, Sirius – and I know a Marauder is more than capable of arranging security for someone, but… will it be enough?" She bit her lip, not liking what she was about to say one bit. "James was a Marauder too, and Lily as good as."

Sirius blanched. "That's not – that's – I –"

"Think about it, though – Dumbledore's many things, but he's not a fool. He must know how horrible it is for Harry here," she continued, ignoring Vernon Dursley's silent protests. "And he still insists he stays."

"Where are you going with this?" Remus asked, his eyes narrowed at her.

His expression was unreadable, just at the moment.

"Old magic – the muggle kind – the kind you find in myths and fairy stories – well, there's none of this incantation and wand waving. It's all bodily fluids, really gross stuff – saliva, urine, toenails, blood. Blood is always the most powerful…" She looked around the Dursleys' immaculate kitchen. "What if Dumbledore's counting on that? What if Voldemort can't get at him, as long as he's here?"

There was a long silence, punctuated only by the sounds of Harry throwing things in his trunk upstairs and Dudley avoiding helping him. Sirius sank slowly into a chair.

"The cottage is too exposed," he said miserably, drawing his hand across his face. "He has to stay…"

"No-o," said Remus, after a moment. Even Vernon Dursley turned to look at him. "Your cottage _is_ too exposed – but what about the farm?" He looked at Amelia. "It's unplottable, and with the two of us there… and your aunt – she has a mean right hook."

Catching his drift, Amelia nodded slowly. "And Hazel – you should see the damage she can do with a frying pan."

Remus nodded, his eyes steely and intense. "Voldemort and his supporters won't try anything against Harry – not at home, not yet. The Dementors were only able to get to him and Dudley because they were so exposed. The way the Ministry is acting right now it's not in their best interest to do anything – particularly to Harry. As long as everyone's talking very loudly about how they can't possibly be back, they can consolidate their position and strike when they are ready."

He shook his head. "One thing Voldemort is not, is impatient," he added. "Now he has his body and his magic back, he won't act until he thinks the time is right."

"So who sent the Dementors?" Amelia asked, confused.

"I don't know… but I don't think it matters, as long as he's at the farm and protected."

"You'd be putting yourselves at risk," said Sirius, shortly. "And Bea and Hazel. Hermione too, while she's there."

"No more so than we already are, being in the Order," said Remus.

"Besides, you know what they'll say," Amelia added, going to stand by her husband. "None of them would ever turn someone in need away – and Harry's family."

"Alright," said Sirius, after a moment. "But I'm coming too."

"I didn't doubt that for a moment," said Amelia, amused. "Oh – you are house-trained, are you?"

Sirius rolled his eyes.

"You can't take him," said Petunia, quietly.

Everyone jumped; the conversation had been so intense that they had forgotten either of the Dursleys were there.

"He told me he had to stay – he's the last I have of my sister, and –"

"And Dumbledore can be terrifying when he wants to," Remus guessed. He took the seat beside Petunia, who leaned away from him, afraid. "I'll talk to him," he assured her. "I'll make sure he knows that you tried to stop us taking him. He won't blame you – and Harry will be just as safe with us as he is here. Dudley will be safer, too, without Harry around."

"Isn't this what you've always wanted?" Sirius asked, trying to suppress the disgust in his voice. "To have Harry out of your hair?"

Petunia appeared to be giving this some serious thought. On her other side, Vernon (being forced to listen to people for the first time in his life) was staring earnestly at his wife, trying to will her to accept what they were saying and get Harry out of his world.

"I can't guarantee he won't be coming back," said Remus, still in that gentle voice, "but he will be leaving with us tonight, either way."

Jerkily, as if she were in mortal terror, Petunia nodded her head.

"Good," said Remus, and stood up. He glanced at Sirius, clearly feeling that he ought to be kept apart from Vernon Dursley for the foreseeable future. "Er – since your son is so determined to attend Harry's hearing, Amelia and I will come and get him on the morning of the fifteenth."

"Night before," said Amelia. "The Ministry hate Harry right now – I wouldn't put it past them to try to pull a fast one. It'll be an early session too, I bet. It would be best if he stayed in London the night before – somewhere safe."

"He's not – my son is not staying on his own," Petunia gasped. "In the city, with no one but – but people like _you_ nearby –"

"Of course not," said Amelia, briskly. "Dudley's underage – you'll need to be there with him. You'll all be quite safe."

Petunia looked horrified, but there was nothing she could do – not unless Dudley changed his mind. It looked like in three weeks' time, all of them would be staying at Grimmauld place, whether they liked it or not.


	11. Blood and Family

It had been the work of only a few minutes to transfigure cushions from the living room into comfortable, make-shift beds for Harry and Sirius. Although Bea had a spare room, even with Hermione home from school, it was infinitely preferable to have Harry safe in Lupin Cottage with three adult wizards than slightly more comfortable at Bea's with only her and Hermione to keep any possible attackers at bay.

Remus and Sirius spent nearly an hour walking around the perimeter of the farm, strengthening defence charms and putting up a few more, while Amelia moved some of their unsorted crap out of the rooms Harry and Sirius would be staying in. It was lucky, she thought, helping her surrogate nephew carry his owl's cage up the stairs, that the old farmhouse was so large. She chuckled at herself. Not two weeks earlier she had been complaining that it was much too big for her and Remus.

"Have you eaten?" she asked, as Harry stowed his trunk and opened the window for Hedwig (who always seemed to know where to find him).

"Not since lunch," he admitted, and she heard his stomach give a hopeful rumble. "And Dudley's on this diet, so…"

"So the whole family's eating celery," Amelia guessed. "Sandwich?"

"That would be brilliant, thanks Prof-" He caught her raised eyebrow and stopped mid-word. "Er – Amelia."

"Mel's fine, if it makes you less uncomfortable," she told him. "Head downstairs when you're ready."

She left him to unpack and wrote a quick note to Hazel, who was still on the nights rotation of her shift-pattern at the hospital, explaining things. She tacked it to the outside of her friend's door. Even if Sirius was no longer as rapacious as he and Remus alleged he had been in his youth, he could still be a little startling and overtly playful if he encountered a woman wearing only a towel – and while she knew he would never cross the boundaries between flirting and lechery, his personality could be a bit much at 5an, especially if sprung unexpectedly upon a person.

Forewarned was forearmed.

Harry came down about half an hour later, while Amelia was putting disillusionment charms around the outside of her walled garden. He walked slowly across the garden to meet her, watching what she was doing with a deep frown on his face.

"I'm putting you all in danger, aren't I?" he said, when she was finished. "Being here, I mean."

"Probably no more so than we already are," she told him, and then realised that this might not be as comforting as she had intended. "Let's face it, me and Remus have a bad track record for keeping out of trouble – and the last time Sirius was left to his own devices for any great length of time he ended up in prison." She gave an exaggerated sigh. "From what Remus tells me, that was really only a matter of time!"

She had been careful to adopt a sorrowful tone, but Harry saw right through it. He smiled, relaxing slightly.

"Seriously though, we're better off with you being here, where we can keep an eye on you, rather than you being stuck with the Dursleys, with us worrying about you all the time."

He met her eyes for a moment and she saw acceptance there, if not contentment.

"Thanks Mel. I mean – yeah… thanks."

She clapped him on the back. "Nonsense. You're family."

0o0

Bea and Hermione had been out at the theatre during the chaos of the night before, so Amelia went over first thing to let them know that the nation's most famous teenage wizard would be staying at Pear Tree Farm for the foreseeable future. She caught them having breakfast, and Hermione was still in her pyjamas when she ran over to Lupin Cottage and startled Harry with a tight hug.

"I thought you said Dumbledore wanted to keep him at arm's length," her aunt commented, as the girl vanished from sight.

It was one of the few things Amelia and Remus had been able to tell her aunt about what they were doing, and neither woman had wholly approved of the tactic.

"He does," said Amelia. "But he's better off here. Last night's attack proved that – and having met his aunt and uncle, I can tell you, there is no way I'm letting him go back. Not this summer, anyway."

"Won't your general disagree?" Bea asked, giving her niece a searching look.

"Doubtless," Amelia admitted. "I'm sure we'll see him before breakfast, even. Are you okay with the arrangement? After all, we're putting you at risk as well – it's not just our lives on the line."

"Of course he can stay here," she said, dismissing the concerns with a wave of her hand. "For as long as he needs."

Amelia smiled. She hadn't really expected anything less.

0o0

As it happened, Dumbledore arrived mid-morning, with a small delegation of people obviously calculated to be the most likely to persuade them to send Harry back to Little Whinging. They made quite a crack when they arrived, and Hazel opened her bedroom window to ask them to kindly keep the racket down before Remus or Amelia had even made it outside.

Their headmaster was apologising profusely to her when they rounded the corner. For some reason, they had Apparated at the far end of Bea's stable block, under the gnarly, ancient tree that gave the farm its name. Arthur Weasley and Minerva McGonagall were looking up at the irritated radiographer, too, and didn't immediately see Amelia, Remus and Sirius watching them from the back of Lupin Cottage.

Steeling themselves for battle, they three of them eyed the newcomers warily.

"Good morning," said Remus, in what he hoped was a friendly sort of tone.

Dumbledore turned towards them with a slight frown on his face, though this was quickly hidden. Arthur looked faintly worried, though he was also smiling, and Minerva's lips were pressed into a thin, white line. They, too, looked as if they were gearing up for a confrontation – or at least, for protracted negotiations.

It was Minerva who spoke first, complementing Amelia and Remus on the cottage and its gardens. She hadn't been to Pear Tree Farm since the party the year before (was it really only a year? Remus wondered, suddenly) when Amelia had agreed to marry him. The old farmhouse had been unoccupied then, and she was impressed at the progress they had already made.

They were barely over the threshold, however, when Dumbledore asked, "Where is Harry?" and brought an abrupt end to the pleasantries.

"Exploring the attic with Hermione," said Amelia. "I think they're developing a flair for archaeology, which I shall take full blame for."

Remus found the corner of his mouth twitch upwards; Arthur, too, wasn't immune and he gave a short laugh. Dumbledore and Minerva, however, were less easily moved, it seemed.

"He's fine," Sirius grumbled. "Which is more than I can say for how he was when we showed up last night."

"I think a pot of tea is in order," said Amelia, lightly. "Sirius, I think it's your turn."

Sirius, who had obviously been gearing himself up for a fight, nodded and departed towards the kitchen. Remus followed Amelia as she gently moved people through the house, admiring the way his wife was simultaneously steering people towards the dining room and allowing Sirius to get a grip on himself before the discussion really started.

 _You're good at this_ , he thought, and caught the slightly raised eyebrow that suggested she had heard.

The five of them engaged in very tense small talk about chairs and soft furnishings until Sirius came in with the tea. Dumbledore waited until he's settled in a chair beside Remus before speaking.

"Why did you Apparate to Little Whinging last night?" he asked, steepling his long fingers.

Remus frowned. He recognised the tone: disappointment. Trying to stop his insides from squirming instinctively, from long years of admiration for this man, he swallowed.

"Because Harry was being attacked," said Sirius. Remus saw his eyes flick from one face to another, confused.

"I specifically said that no one should go there," Dumbledore said. "Why did you feel the need to go anyway?"

"We didn't know you didn't want anyone to go," said Remus, frowning.

He was all for protecting Harry, but this was somewhat ridiculous.

Dumbledore frowned, his eyes flicking left towards Arthur. "I left specific instructions with Molly –"

"We left before she could tell us," Amelia explained, calmly, while Arthur's ears turned red. "As soon as we heard there had been an attack, we Apparated straight there."

Remus nodded slowly, remembering that Molly had been halfway through saying something before they'd gone. "Right in that moment, our priority was Harry," he said.

Dumbledore turned his steely gaze on him for a moment. "And you think mine wasn't?"

"No," Remus replied. "I assumed – and I think I can speak for all of us – that if one of us was in trouble we should be there to help them."

Dumbledore sighed. "As noble as your intentions were, I placed Harry with the Dursleys for a reason," he said, still in that disappointed tone.

Beside him, Remus felt Amelia shift, irritated and about to show it, but Sirius got there first. "You know I respect you, but you don't have the right to place Harry anywhere," he said, in a surprisingly restrained manner.

Minerva gasped. "Really, Sirius –" she began, but the man wasn't having any of it.

"No," he said, and for the first time since they were kids, Remus heard the arrogant, self-assured tone that growing up as one of the richest wizarding families of the day had given him. "You had to when he was a kid – none of us were around." His eyes slid towards Remus, who motioned for him to continue.

The fact that he hadn't been consulted, or even considered, was an old pain, but given his circumstances they would have had to be insane to have placed an orphaned infant with him, no matter how close he had been to the family. Even if no one had ever figured out what he was, bouncing from job to job and town to town was no life for a baby.

Giving him to his aunt and uncle had been Harry's best chance at a stable, normal upbringing. That had been the only thing that had been able to persuade him not to storm over there and take him home when he'd found out where he was. Still, it had taken Dumbledore and Minerva some persuading to get him to drop the subject – and if he hadn't had a tremendous amount of respect for them (and not a little fear of being a disappointment) he might have taken Harry and run.

It hadn't helped that at the time, since the death of everyone he'd ever loved, he'd been drinking pretty heavily. That was no life for a baby either.

No, Petunia and Vernon had seemed a much more attractive prospect back then. How wrong they had all been.

"You and the other Order members were the closest things Harry had to family," Sirius continued. "But that's just not true anymore. I'm his Godfather. Moony's practically his uncle. We get a say in what happens to him – and _we_ say he stays here."

"Ordinarily, I would agree with you," said Dumbledore. "But Harry isn't an ordinary boy."

"That shouldn't preclude him from a normal life," Amelia said, "at least some of the time."

"It's just, we have to keep him safe," said Arthur, his ears roughly the same colour as the crimson wallpaper behind him. "And Dumbledore assures me that is best done with his aunt and uncle."

Remus felt his eyebrows shooting upwards at that, Arthur's choice of words not lost on him. Or, it seemed, on Amelia. "But you took some convincing," she observed.

"Well," said Arthur, clearly uncomfortable. "You can see how unhappy he is there – whenever he comes to the Burrow it's like a dark cloud lifts off him."

"Exactly!" Sirius exclaimed, slamming his fist down on the table and making everyone except Dumbledore jump. "It's the same when he gets to my cottage! He's fucking miserable."

"Language, Black," Minerva snapped, almost automatically, and for a fleeting instant Remus was transported back to a time when the worst thing any of them had to worry about was Sirius swearing in front of a teacher. It didn't last, however.

"I think a little unhappiness is a small price to pay for his safety," said Dumbledore, mildly.

"A 'little unhappiness'?" Amelia repeated, aghast. "Albus, I don't know how to tell you this, but if an individual in muggle social services had placed a child with guardians who regularly and consistently treated their ward like a cross between their slave and a particularly unpleasant form of vermin, they would have been stripped of their position and prosecuted."

There was a tight kind of quality to her voice that suggested she was only just keeping her anger in check. In fact, Remus could feel it coming off her in waves. Both Minerva and Arthur were staring at her, open-mouthed. People didn't often argue with Dumbledore – largely because he was usually right – and what his wife had just said was pretty shocking for a community who had never heard of things like child welfare or heath and safety.

 _No one_ , Remus thought, _really has any idea how bad Harry has it. He's so quiet about it – except with his friends. The way Sirius was._

In some ways it was a good thing that Harry confided so readily in Hermione – and that Amelia could quite literally read her cousin's mind.

"I mean, to leave a vulnerable infant in someone's care and not check on them," Amelia went on, still in that tight, angry voice, "which I'm assuming you didn't, because I don't believe for a second that you would have left him there if you had… I'm sorry, Albus, but it's indefensible."

Dumbledore was watching her carefully, an unreadable expression on his face.

"Is… is it really as bad as that?" Minerva asked, clearly concerned about her student.

"Well," Amelia scoffed, "let's see: until Hagrid picked him up before his first year he believed that his father was an unemployed drunk who ran himself and his wife off the road. He didn't know he was a wizard and he was regularly abused by his cousin. His aunt used him as a live-in servant and his uncle never wasted the opportunity to reinforce that Harry was a useless waste of air, just like his parents."

Her words were coming out faster now, and her anger was obvious; Remus, too, could feel his blood boiling, and from the tension evident in his best friend, he suspected Sirius was just as furious. Across the table, Arthur and Minerva's faces were pictures of horror. Dumbledore was still inscrutable, but Remus was willing to bet that he had no idea things were this bad for his favourite student.

"Leaving the emotional abuse aside, for a moment – and believe me, that's damaging enough," Amelia went on, angrily. "They made him sleep in the cupboard under the fucking stairs for the better part of a decade. When Ron and the twins went to pick him up in second year," she continued, as Arthur went very pink, "they had been starving him for weeks. They had him confined in a room with bars on the windows and a shutter on the door so they could slide his meals in."

"While we were there, that oversized walrus was screaming at Harry that Lily and James got what was coming to them – like they deserved to be murdered," Sirius told them, through gritted teeth.

"They're insane!" Amelia added. "And you consider that a 'safe environment'?" She shook her head, unable to look at her colleagues and looking instead out of the window and into the garden.

There was a moment of silence as those who hadn't known about it registered the extent of the abuse and neglect their young friend had already lived through.

Dumbledore sighed. "Clearly, some discussions with his aunt and uncle will need to take place," he said. "But the fact remains that Harry is safer at his aunt and uncle's than anywhere else – except for Hogwarts."

Amelia snorted at that, possibly thinking of the number of times her cousin and her friends had nearly died in their time at the school, but she declined to comment.

Sirius, on the other hand, did not. "Some discussions?" he asked, incredulous. "The Dursleys have been treating Harry like crap for years, they're not going to change how they behave just because you've spoken to them! No. No discussions. No arguments. Harry stays here."

Dumbledore sighed again, but Minerva cleared her throat. "I understand the need for protection, Albus, but I can't help agreeing with Sirius." She looked at the three of them, a grimace on her face. "If I'd known…"

"Of course," said Remus, dismissing her guilt.

Arthur was nodding, too.

If any of them had known, Harry would have been out of there so fast the Dursleys wouldn't have known what had hit them. If Remus had had any inkling about the cupboard under the stairs he would have marched in and taken Harry away, Dumbledore and the Ministry be damned. It was only the idea that he was safer there that had stopped him, but after the Dementor attack he could no longer accept that he was.

"Sirius, I have to remind you that while Harry is, in many ways, a typical teenage boy, he's also very much more than that," said Dumbledore, steepling his fingers. It seemed to Remus that he was choosing his words very carefully indeed. "He is Voldemort's most resilient enemy – and therefore a very inviting target for the Death Eaters. We cannot afford to let them get to him."

"It doesn't make any sense for them to," Sirius argued. "Don't get me wrong, I'm not crediting Voldemort or any of his cronies with a great deal of sanity, but they'd have to be completely loopy to make a move now, while the Ministry is doing anything it can to discredit the idea that they're back."

"They're more likely to be digging in," Arthur agreed, his ears going red again when Dumbledore turned his electric gaze onto him. "I mean – at least for a while. I'd be using this time to increase my numbers and – infiltrate places like the Ministry. Harry's too much of a high profile target."

"I hate to play devil's advocate," said Amelia, still glaring at the window, "because I completely agree, but it really only takes one crazy person to upset that tactic."

"Exactly," said Dumbledore, as Sirius stared at Amelia like she'd grown a second head. "There is a good reason to keep Harry in Little Whinging."

"Blood magic," Amelia guessed.

"Yes." Dumbledore inclined his head, slightly surprised.

"It's how almost all old magic worked, from a muggle perspective," Amelia explained, on his curious look.

"Because Petunia Dursley is a direct relative of Lily Potter, there's a degree of safety for Harry in her home." Dumbledore scratched his nose, looking tired. "It's not a great deal, but it's his best chance – and I've found that tyrants as arrogant as Voldemort regularly fail to take into account things they consider to be beneath them – like old magic."

Remus nodded slowly. Suddenly the old man's insistence – apparently against all reason – made sense.

"But if that's true," said Sirius, after a moment, "then Harry would be just as safe with me. James was only one layer of family away from being my cousin."

"Really?" Amelia asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Sirius told her. "The wizarding world is pretty incestuous, for lack of a better word."

Arthur nodded. "Sad, but true. Sirius is only one step away from being Molly's cousin, too."

"One big, happy family," Sirius grinned; then the mischief faded, leaving behind a tired looking man. "Which sadly also includes the likes of cousin Bella."

 _Cousin Bella?_

Remus glanced at his wife. _I'll tell you later,_ he thought, hoping she would hear it.

"The point is, Harry would be protected with me, too – though I admit I'd be happier if he were here, because the cottage is pretty out in the open," Sirius added.

"I'm afraid I can't allow it," said Dumbledore, with an air of finality. "Though I wish it could be otherwise."

"But –" Sirius began, but Dumbledore shook his head.

"No. We will be escorting him back to his aunt and uncle's until we can organise somewhere more suitable for him."

"Where, for example?" asked Remus, quietly.

Everyone turned to him, surprised. He wasn't known for speaking up against Dumbledore, after all. Generally, he felt he owed the man so much – all the opportunities that had given him the chance of a semi-normal life – that he didn't like to. This was an unusual situation, however.

"I can only think of one place, other than here," he continued. "And if you still want to keep Harry at arm's length, Grimmauld place seems like a poor choice. The Order will be meeting there regularly and keeping the kids out of that will be an absolute nightmare – not, it has to be said, that I entirely agree that they should be kept out of it. The way things are going, this will be their war as much as ours, but I digress.

"Pear Tree Farm is a better prospect for several reasons," he went on. "We're unplottable and well defended – and we spent yesterday evening strengthening those with layered shield charms. Unless they know this place is here – and I am willing to bet not a single Death Eater will ever have been here, or even know its name – they won't be able to find it. As you said, people obsessed with power tend to ignore things they perceive as beneath them, and until this summer, Pear Tree Farm has only ever had muggle residents. They are, therefore, fairly likely to overlook it.

"There are presently three adult wizards living or staying here, along with Bea," he continued, calmly. "Now, I realise that she is a muggle, but I suspect she would still hold her own if there was a fight. Wizards tend to forget about things like frying pans being wielded with extreme prejudice, for example. When we attend Order meetings, Harry can come with us to Grimmauld Place – as I assume the Weasley children will be?"

He looked at Arthur, who nodded.

"Where Molly can put them to work on the clearing programme."

Dumbledore looked for a moment like he was about to interrupt, but Remus continued doggedly.

"You talked me out of taking Harry once, when Lily and James died." He paused, swallowing the lump that had risen in his throat. "And you were right. I was in no position to raise a child, with my condition. Nor was I in anything resembling the right state of mind." Remus stopped again. He had thought about this a lot, over the intervening years – particularly after Harry had admitted that the only happy memory he could conjure of the ten years he had spent at the Dursleys' had been being told he could leave them. "Even so, I think I probably would have made it work.

"You see, this decision has to be in Harry's best interest – and back then, close family who already had a child of their own seemed like the best option for him," Remus reasoned. "Now, it does not. Harry needs to be somewhere he feels safe, supported and – well – liked. It's no good isolating him, particularly now. If he feels like he's being pushed away…" He ran a hand through his greying hair. "Well, it won't do him any good. He stays at Pear Tree Farm, and that's the end of it."

The room was silent for a few moments, save for the ticking of the old clock on the mantelpiece. Remus steeled himself; Dumbledore was not a man to be trifled with. Nor was he a fool, however.

The headmaster regarded him closely for a few moments. Remus held his ground, though he'd rather not disagree with the man who had given him so much. It was incredible, really, how he still had the power to make his ex-students feel like they were fifteen and had just been caught trying to break into the girls' dormitory so James could present Lily with an unwanted bunch of flowers.

"You are resolute, then?" Dumbledore asked, at last.

"I'm afraid so, sir," Remus told him, a little relieved that the world hadn't simply cracked in two at his open defiance. "I should have taken Harry in years ago. It is to my eternal shame that I did not."

Dumbledore nodded slowly, his face still unreadable. "Then I shall leave him in your care."

It took Remus a couple of seconds to realise what he had said.

"What, really?" Sirius asked, stunned.

"Really, Sirius," Dumbledore confirmed. At once, the impenetrable cloud lifted from his face. "Now, perhaps, you would permit me a tour of your beautiful gardens, Amelia?" He smiled, genuinely happy to spend a few minutes in the sunshine. "I should like to check your defences." He met Remus's eyes for a moment, and he thought he detected just the flicker of something like respect there. "And see those roses you were telling me about."

"Of course," said Amelia. "Minerva?"

"I'd be delighted."

They all got up together, somewhat awkwardly. For some reason, Remus didn't entirely know what to do with his hands. They felt strangely cold, as though he'd had an awful shock.

As the others were sorting themselves out and Amelia passed behind his chair, she pressed a hand to the small of his back and whispered in his ear, "I love you."

He met her eyes, fleetingly, and saw the pride there; suddenly his hands didn't feel half so bad.

"That was one hell of a speech," Arthur told him in an undertone as they made their way outside.

"I didn't mean it to come out that way," Remus admitted.

"Well, either way – I'm glad he's with you instead of those dreadful relatives of his."

Remus nodded and let him go when they entered the living room. His nostrils twitched and he grabbed Amelia's arm, a growing sense of horror building in his chest. "They were listening," he whispered, letting the others get ahead a little.

Amelia frowned and looked around. "Harry and Hermione?"

"Yes – their scent is all over in here, but strongest by the door." He gaped at her. "You don't think he heard, do you? About how I never went to get him?"

The frown vanished from his wife's face and she laid a hand on his arm. "He'll understand, Remus."

Remus looked away, in the direction of the staircase, privately convinced that he never would. "I wouldn't," he murmured. "I'd hate me…"

"That's because you're a mildly hysterical werewolf at times," said Amelia, the expression on her face telling him she thought he was being an idiot.

He glared at her. "I am not hysterical."

She shook her head, and he recognised the acceptance of someone who was planning a long assault on his current issues later on. "I'll talk to him," she promised. "Come on, let's get this over with!"

He let her pilot him on, out into the garden, not altogether reassured.


	12. Feathering the Nest

They were, not unexpectedly, in Harry's room, pretending that they had been nowhere near the downstairs.

 _They must have heard them arrive and snuck around the back,_ Amelia thought, knocking on the door. _I would've._

Harry opened the door, after what sounded like a hurried conversation.

"Can I come in?"

He looked uncomfortable, and Amelia didn't blame him. "Yeah, alright," he said, with a glance at Hermione.

He moved to sit on his trunk, under the window, while Amelia joined Hermione on the transfigured bed.

"I'm sorry we didn't consult you," she apologised, and watched the brief interplay of looks between the two teenagers.

"About what?" Harry asked, feigning confusion.

Amelia gave him a Look. "I'd like to casually remind you both that I can tell when a person is lying and that my husband is a werewolf who can generally tell where someone is or has recently been," she said. "It makes hiding Christmas presents a right bugger, I can tell you."

Harry's face fell; he had the good grace to look sheepish. Hermione, on the other hand, grimaced. "You knew we were there?" she asked.

Amelia shook her head. "No, we weren't paying attention. Remus spotted your scents after we left the room. We should have included you, Harry – it was wrong of us not to."

He gave her a small smile. "Thanks – though it's quite nice for people to be fighting my battles for me for a change," he joked and they laughed. He looked again at Hermione, and Amelia guessed there had been some discussion since they'd come upstairs. "Not that I'm complaining, believe me when I say I could happily never go back to Privet Drive, but why did you disagree?"

"How much of the conversation did you hear?" Amelia asked.

"All of it, after Sirius went in with the tea," Hermione responded.

"Then you know why," she said, simply. "You've been through a pile of crap with your aunt and uncle and we shouldn't have allowed it."

"It's not your fault," said Harry, frowning.

Amelia shook her head. "I've known you were very unhappy at home – and I've heard watered down versions of some of the things that've happened to you, and I haven't done anything because I thought you were safer living outside the Wizarding World, at least in the summer months. Clearly, given recent events, that's not entirely true. I'm sorry for that, and I know Remus and Sirius are, too."

"But – and believe me, I think Harry should be here over anywhere else," Hermione began. "If Dumbledore believes he's safer at Privet Drive, then…" She trailed off, catching sight of Harry's rather sour expression. "Oh, I know – but it's _Dumbledore!_ "

Amelia smiled. "He is rather hard to doubt, isn't he?" she remarked. "I have absolute faith in Albus Dumbledore's ability to get us through the coming war. I don't think we have half as good a chance with anyone else at the helm. That being said…" She sighed. "Nobody is right all the time, and I don't have a problem with pointing it out when someone is wrong. Not doing that's a very quick way to lose a war. No. He has the very best of intentions – and he sees and knows more of what's going on than the rest of us. He's obviously playing a longer game than we're looking at. But that doesn't mean he's infallible. If it helps, I don't think Albus or Minerva had any idea of what your home life was like. Or Arthur, really, beyond knowing you were unhappy."

"I'm glad you talked Dumbledore round," said Harry, nodding slowly.

He fell quiet for a moment, thinking. Amelia let him, sharing a rueful smile with Hermione. It was a lot to take in.

"Do you think he's right about the blood magic?" he asked, eventually. There was a deep frown on his face, as if he was trying not to think about the possibility of having to go back to the Dursleys again.

Amelia suspected that if he thought being there would make life safer for anyone but him he'd pack up and walk back to Surrey himself.

"He may very well be," she said, "but as Sirius said, you're practically related to him by blood as it is."

 _And there are plenty of other people who have been murdered in their relatives' homes_ , she added privately.

Harry nodded again, chewing the inside of his mouth. He shot her a hard look from under his eyelashes. "Did…" He coughed and cleared his throat. "Did Professor Lupin – did he mean what he said?" he continued quietly, and Amelia guessed he was concealing a good deal of emotion. "About wanting to adopt me when I was little?"

"Yes. He… doesn't talk about it much, but I know it weighs pretty heavily on him. I think he feels responsible for not coming and getting you. He feels like he failed you."

"But he didn't fail me at all! None of this is his fault," Harry mumbled. "I kind of wish he had, though. I always wished someone would."

"I know. So do I." Amelia gave him a weak sort of smile. "I get the impression he took some convincing not to just turn up one day and kidnap you."

Despite himself, Harry snorted.

"I think I would have paid to see that," said Hermione, giggling.

"Me too," Amelia admitted.

"Anything would have been better than living with the Dursleys, but growing up with Remus would have been particularly cool," Harry said. "I don't blame him, you know – for not coming and getting me. It sounded like Dumbledore was pretty definite about it, even back then."

Amelia smiled. "Could you tell Remus that? It will do him the world of good. He's been beating himself up about it for the better part of a decade."

Both kids laughed at that, the tension their eavesdropping had elicited beginning to dissipate a little. Until, that is, Hermione spoke.

"Mel, what did Remus mean about trying to keep Harry at arm's length?" Hermione asked.

Amelia put her head on one side, wondering how much she ought to say; she was aware she had their undivided attention though, so she chose her words carefully.

"There are certain parts of the group of adults who believe they are responsible for resisting Voldemort who don't believe anyone under the age of seventeen ought to know anything of war," she said, slowly, and then waved their sputtered objections away. "And while that would be lovely, in an ideal world, you're right in the middle of it, and it seems to me that excluding you is a little short-sighted. I don't think I can realistically tell you any more than that, though I disagree wholeheartedly with that decision. I'm sure Dumbledore has his reasons."

"He'll be trying to protect you," Hermione remarked, in a conciliatory sort of way.

"Mmm," said Amelia, thinking of the previous year, when the man had shown a shocking lack of concern over several students' welfare, two of whom were presently in the room. "It's a different world," she murmured, reminding herself.

"Sorry?" Harry asked, but Amelia shook her head.

"Just a stray thought," she said.

Both teenagers narrowed their eyes at her, but they let it go. She suspected it would form the basis for some intense discussion later on that she would not be privy to.

"What's Grimmauld Place?" Harry asked, after a moment, trying a new angle. "Remus said we'd be going there."

"Yes," said Hermione. "And something about 'order'?"

"Those," she said, "are questions for another day, I'm afraid. All I'll say is that those are things that cannot be discussed until they become clear – even with Bea, okay? I'm serious, you can't even say those words outside this building."

Harry and Hermione exchanged suspicious looks. "Okay…"

Amelia nodded, privately certain that they would be discussing it at length, and probably grilling Ron on the subject, too.

"And don't write to anyone about it." She smiled at their immediately crestfallen expressions. "It's just not safe. I hate to sound like Alastor Moody, but he's right in this instance – owls are too easy to intercept. If you want to be included as adults – and this by no means, means that you will be – then there are a few precautions you will have to take. I'm sure we can invite Ron and Ginny over at some point soon, though, if that helps."

Hermione immediately lost the look of disappointment and developed one of amused exasperation. "How do you always know?"

"Years of experience." Amelia grinned and tapped the side of her nose. "Now, I sent Sirius and Remus out to get a curry from _The Midnight Bay_ in Knockin. Assuming they don't manage to set fire to themselves or get arrested, how do you two feel about a night of board games?"

0o0

The next few days were busy as Harry and Sirius settled in at Pear Tree Farm and the reality of living with two aging Marauders began to set in. After the second explosion, Amelia had put her foot down and informed her rather sheepish husband that he and Sirius could take whatever the hell that was out to one of the workshops and soundproof it.

There were things to collect from Sirius's cottage to take him through the summer and into his mission for the Order, homework to encourage the kids to complete, chores to do to help Bea out on the farm…

Harry seemed to be enjoying helping out in the orchards, so much so that very quickly every sunny lunchtime he and Hermione could be found climbing the gnarly trees on the edge of the orchard or picnicking with Bea's labourers. Almost every other day, Ron and Ginny would appear, sometimes joined by the twins, or Neville, or both. Harry's presence was, in short, turning Pear Tree Farm into a very lively place.

"You know," said Bea, while she and Amelia were enjoying tea as an impromptu Quidditch match broke out in the back garden. "I know there's a war about to be on and all that, but really, having all these people around is a delight. Even," she said, eyeing the boisterous ex-convict with something approaching affection, "that reprobate."

"You're going soft," Amelia told her, amused.

"Probably, but a woman is entitled to, in her old age," Bea said, with a chuckle. "Besides, his desire to learn how to make cider is making him a very helpful guest!"

Amelia snorted into her tea. "I do have to admit," she remarked, watching Remus entirely fail to prevent a quaffle from soaring past him, "that it is good having a friendly level of chaos. It stops us dwelling."

Bea, who had lived through World War Two (though she had been quite young at the time) nodded. "Harry seems to be bearing up pretty well considering. Has he said much about the tribunal?"

"No," said Amelia. "But I did get a very stiff letter from his aunt yesterday, informing me that she and Dudley would still be joining us in London, the night before."

"Couldn't talk the lad out of it, more like," snorted the older woman. "Good for him."

"Mmm," mumbled Amelia, who had begun to think two prize muggles in the middle of Grimmauld Place might well be a traumatic experience all round. "Well, hopefully this is the shock Dudley needs to grow up into a half-decent human being."

0o0

Amelia spent the next day roaming around Diagon Alley with Hermione and Remus while Harry and Sirius had some family time back at the farm. Theoretically, there was nothing stopping either of them leaving, but Harry was far safer there than loose in the wizarding world, and it was eventually decided that the best course of action was to combine the shopping Harry needed for the year with Hermione's.

There had been some talk of Harry and Sirius cooking for them when they got back, which had made Remus blanch, presumably from some remembered teenage horrors. Hermione had assured him that Harry at least had some skill in the kitchen, having spent so long as the Dursley's live-in staff, so they had managed to hastily pilot him through the fireplace. It didn't stop him casting the occasional anxious glance at his watch, but he was soon thoroughly distracted by the book his co-course leader had elected to put on the essential text list.

He was so annoyed, he actually swore in the middle of the bookshop, surrounded by impressionable (and greatly amused) students.

"Sir!" one of them gasped, surprised that their usually mild-mannered Professor would use such language.

"Calm down Reynolds," said Amelia, picking up one of the offending tomes. "We're all entitled to a good swear now and then, if the circumstances require it, and – _oh gods, what the bloody hell is this?_ "

Reynolds and his friends burst out laughing as two of their Professors thumbed hastily through _Defensive Magical Theory_ by Wilbert Slinkhard and told each other in loud, fairly unprofessional voices how appalling a book it was.

"Oh, this is going to be a long year," said Amelia, despairingly putting the book back on the pile. "Alright, any students within earshot, listen up." She paused as about thirty heads of various ages appeared around bookshelves or over bannisters. "I'm sure this is a very useful book," she said, in the manner of someone who was praising the fire-resistant abilities of a slug, "but my other half will now give you a list of books that will actually help you in the real world."

Remus, shooting her an amused look, reeled off half a dozen textbooks that would fit the bill. "You may need them as extra credit for my class, and I will ensure you can get hold of them in the library," he added, as several parents groaned. "Just keep in mind that no one book will ever tell you all you need to know – and they're nothing compared to practical experience."

"Tell your friends," Amelia added.

Hermione, who was bright red with embarrassment at this point, hustled the two of them out of the door before they could do any more damage. "You can't talk about another professor like that!" she hissed, as if she were talking to Harry and Ron instead of two of her teachers. "You'll get in so much trouble!"

"You haven't met her," said Remus, darkly.

"Why?" asked Hermione, at once. "Who have we got?"

"You'll find out, soon enough," said Amelia. "No," she added, when Hermione began to protest. "I know we're being ridiculously secretive at the moment, but she's already had enough of my day, I'm not giving her anymore. Anyway, we haven't met her yet, either."

Hermione scowled at them, but she knew that wouldn't get her anyway, so it didn't last long.

"Come on, grasshopper, Madame Malkins' next."

"I have to step into the apothecary," said Remus, kissing Amelia on the cheek. "I'll see you later."

She and Hermione watched him go, amused.

"He's going back to the bookshop, isn't he?" Hermione observed.

"Oh, I should think so," said Amelia, fondly. "And he tells _me_ to keep my head down."

0o0

"Back already? I thought you were in London," said Hazel, when Amelia stuck her head around her door, late that afternoon.

"It's always quicker when there's a couple of us," said Amelia, dismissively. "Anyway, you got a minute?"

Hazel looked up, took in Amelia's slight air of excitement and mischief and narrowed her eyes. "Why?"

"Just something I want you to see, is all," said Amelia, innocently.

"This has nothing to do with the raucous laughter coming from the living room earlier?"

Amelia put her head to one side, frowning slightly. "No, but I'll take that as a heads up to avoid that particular room for the time being."

Hazel gave her a look of utmost distrust, so Amelia laughed and rolled her eyes. "Come on Bones, or I'll put glitter in your knicker drawer while you're at work."

Hazel chewed at the inside of her mouth for a moment. "Well played," she acknowledged, and followed her friend downstairs and out of the house.

It was several weeks into the summer holidays now, and the gardens were ablaze with lilies, lupins and lavender, most of them so tall that a person could easily get lost in the maze garden in front of Lupin Cottage and the rose arbour at its heart. Amelia walked swiftly through it, however, to the gap in the back wall which led to the outbuildings. The family potion laboratory had been set up there, along with whatever it was that had exploded in the kitchen a week previously. The middle was taken up by a large garage – though at present it only held Sirius's motorbike – and the two bays at the far end had been empty, until a few days before.

It had taken some effort, keeping the work she and Remus had been doing from two of the residents of Pear Tree Farm – especially when they were two of the more perspicacious members of their odd little family – but somehow they had managed it.

Remus and Beatrice were already waiting for them by the gap, and Hazel exchanged a wary look with the older woman.

"I don't suppose you have any idea what's afoot?" she asked, and Hazel shook her head.

"I rather hoped you would," she admitted. "Particularly with this pair of miscreants around."

"Oh hush, you two," said Amelia. "We only play pranks on people who deserve it, these days."

"Marauder's honour," Remus added, with a grin and an attempt at something like a scout salute.

He led them down the passage to the end bay, which was open now at the door, and at the eaves at the back. New windows in the roof let in plenty of light on one side of the enclosure, and the inside was filled with tree branches Amelia had smuggled in from the orchard, with the help of one or two of Bea's workers. There were a maze of boxes and nesting spaces on the walls, so that something could make itself at home.

It was, at present, empty – as far as they could tell.

Hazel and Bea peered around the light, airy space, confused.

"We didn't want to be out of communication with you," Amelia explained, with a grin, "particularly with the way things are heading, so we… took matters into our own hands."

"They'll be nice and comfortable out here," said Remus, "and of course you can have them in the house, too, if you want – they're very friendly."

"What are very friendly?" Beatrice asked, warily.

Gently, Amelia turned her around so she could see a cage in the lee of the door, covered with a blanket. "Go on," she said, and stood back to watch.

Warily, Bea raised her hand to the cloth, and then paused. "There's not a dragon in here, is there?"

"Nope," said Amelia cheerfully. "Illegal."

"And inadvisable in a building you don't want burning down," Remus added.

"And it won't bite?"

"No – well, only if he's upset with you," Amelia amended. "But honestly, he's perfectly safe."

With an expression that suggested she seriously doubted this, her aunt lifted the cloth away from the cage.

Inside, two pale yellow eyes peered up at her.

"Oh, he's beautiful!" Hazel exclaimed.

"He's called Alan," said Amelia. "According to the lady at _Eeylops_ , he's a real sweetheart."

"Hello Alan," said Bea, with remarkable composure. "Can I let him out?"

"Yes," said Remus, showing her the catch on the cage. "He can get in and out through the eaves," he told her, pointing. "And he's been raised as a post owl, so he knows what to do – don't you," he said, addressing the barn owl directly.

Alan gave a cheerful screech and hopped out onto a nearby branch, where he immediately began preening himself, utterly unconcerned at the four human-shaped creatures in his new home.

"He understands English and some French," Amelia explained, so he'll know what you're talking about. She handed her aunt a bag of owl treats. "Go ahead."

Shooting Amelia a dubious look, Bea straightened up and turned her gaze to the owl, who was now subjecting her to a long, curious stare. "Alright Alan, I'll make you a deal," she said. "If you're a good owl, and you carry the post well, and you keep an eye on my farm at night, you can live here and eat all the mice you can catch. Agreed?"

Alan tipped his head to the side for a moment, as if he was considering, and then screeched again.

"Good," said Bea, and – to his obvious delight – offered him a treat.

"So we can send you ridiculous amounts of letters without having to wait for you to send us a school owl?" Hazel asked, grinning.

"Funny you should mention that," said Remus. "The shop got Alan from a rather unusual breeder, who doesn't just specialise in owls, so he's grown up around all manner of birds. His mother fostered another bird, who grew up thinking she was an owl, so when Alan started being trained, she wanted to be a post owl, too. They're best friends."

"They wouldn't let us take Alan without her, otherwise they'd have pined away," Amelia continued, as Hazel's eyebrows shot up under her asymmetrical fringe. "So we thought you'd better have her."

"That way, if Alan's busy delivering and something happens, you can still get in touch with us," Remus explained. He nodded at another cage on the far side of the door, behind Hazel.

She turned and – excited now – pulled the blanket away. "Oh!" she cried. "She's – wow!"

Inside was a bright-eyed, multi-coloured bird, about two inches shorter than Alan. She had a short tail and a long, black bill that looked ideal for catching insects out of grassland on the wing. Her head was black, while her upper breast and back were an iridescent blue, like a sapphire, or the colour of the sea around Mediterranean islands. The colour was more greenish on her wings, but no less striking. Below that, she had dusky red-orange feathers. The bird regarded Hazel with a critical eye.

Hazel undid the cage and the small, bright bird hopped out onto her outstretched arm. "Hello," she said, and the bird trilled what could have been a greeting.

"She's a Superb Starling," Amelia told her. "Which might possibly be one of the best bird names ever. The breeder named her Mercury, because of the way the undersides of her wings flash silver when she flies."

"Mercury," Hazel repeated, obviously already besotted. "The winged messenger. I couldn't have named her better myself!"

"They're savannah birds, Superb Starlings," Remus said. "So there's a warming charm on her half of the room. To be honest, Alan will probably end up on that side too."

Across the enclosure, Alan screeched his agreement.

"Obviously they're intended more for letters than for packages, but –"

"They're perfect!"

"Good," said Amelia, happily, watching them stroking their new friends. "Because I don't want you to be in a position where you can't get in touch. Either of you."

"Which reminds me," said Aunt Bea, tearing her eyes from the owl that was nuzzling her hand. "We need to sit down and talk about making this place as magic-proof and defensible as possible."


	13. Digging In

Sirius Flooed into his living room and immediately fell over the stack of motorcycle manuals he'd been making his way through before the duelling practice session that had ultimately turned into a rescue. Swearing, he staggered across the room and into the kitchen, wondering when he'd be able to enjoy the place in peace again – or, better yet, have Harry move in with him permanently.

He checked the back door and then the front door to see that his sealing charms were still in place, and then made a quick tour of the perimeter. Pleased that nothing had made an attempt at getting in – and that the muggle gardener he'd met in the local pub had been keeping the place well in his absence – he went back inside and quickly filled a suitcase with clothes.

 _I'll need respectable clothes too,_ he mused, as he worked, and added a couple of dress robes.

If he was going to make a good impression with the Ancient Society of Alchemists in Vienna, and the court at the Castle of Bones, he would need to look sharp. He spent a few minutes perusing the few books he had collected since his pardon and gave up. He'd hoped never to have occasion to look into the darker corners of European Wizardry, so most of his collection centred around more hedonistic pursuits, like _99 Ways to Improve Wizardly Wines_ and _Brewing Basics for the Beginner_ , or anything related to fixing up his old bike.

Fortunately, he suspected the library at Grimauld Place would be packed with information. It was one of the few things he could depend on his family for: an affinity for and fascination with Dark Magic.

Shaking his head, he wondered when the last time he'd used the words 'fortunately' and 'Grimmauld Place' in the same general area.

There was a meeting there in a few days, after the full moon, so he'd use the time leading an expedition into the library – maybe with the kids, to give them the opportunity to snoop.

He frowned. There were rumbles about keeping the kids out of it, as far as they could, but Sirius thought that was insane. They were right in the middle of it; they had a right to know.

It might lose him a few friends, but he was prepared to defend that right as long as he was still in the country.

0o0

Amelia finished the washing up, leaving the dishes to drain, and wondered whether getting a dishwasher was a good idea with a house full of curious and inventive wizards.

It was full moon, and Remus had taken himself off to transform – not that anyone really cared. With the potion, it wasn't as painful as before, so he wouldn't make any noise, and since he kept his mind he wasn't a threat to anyone.

Amelia suspected that his continued absence was partially out of habit, and partially because it was fairly likely that someone would describe him as 'cute'.

She took a mug of tea and some biscuits into the library, where Sirius was grumpily making his way through some very dense and arcane texts, and carried her own through to the dining room, before he could start complaining.

Sometimes the best way to get Sirius through a problem was to isolate him, mostly so he didn't manage to distract himself. He was a little too sociable for his own good.

Carrying her own mug through to the dining room, she settled at one end of the table with her lesson plans for the new term. Bea, Hazel, Hermione and Harry were ranged around the other end, playing 7 Wonders, and therefore arguing about who had the best supplies of wood or clay.

She'd already put in a fair amount of planning for the new year, having learned the hard way her first year of teaching, that there was a significantly more to it than just standing up and sounding interesting for hour long stretches. Fortunately, Hogwarts wasn't the kind of school that required detailed plans and the staff had always enjoyed a certain latitude in respect of their teaching activities. Amelia thought this was one of the main reasons that its students loved it so dearly.

Still, if this Dolores Umbridge woman was going to meddle this year (and having seen her choice of textbook, she was pretty much certain of that), Amelia didn't want to give her an excuse to be meddling with her students. Very much of the 'just say it and get it over with' school of thought, she was double checking everything so that when she occasionally did stray into areas that the Ministry, in its present state of paranoia, would disapprove of, her students would at least have plausible deniability.

Clearly, subtlety was going to have to be her watchword this year, if she wanted to remain in a useful position.

She sighed.

People oughtn't have to be this circumspect in the delivery of facts, or the tools required for critical thought.

She looked up when Harry started coughing – a reasonable approximation of coughing, at any rate. It was fairly obvious why, when she followed his gaze to see the wolf in the hall scowling back at the boy. Hermione, too, was having a hard time keeping a straight face.

"G-good evening, Remus," said Hazel, with admirable steadiness.

It was quite something to be confronted by a wolf that was so obviously sulking, after all.

Unable to keep the amusement off her face, Amelia applied herself to her work.

 _It's not funny_.

Amelia glanced down as her husband curled up around the bottom of her chair.

"It is pretty funny," she murmured, confident that his extra-sensitive ears would catch it and that those of the noisier board game players wouldn't. "You make a very handsome wolf."

He huffed and rested his chin on her feet, declining to comment.

They spent a pleasant hour like that, Amelia working away, Remus dozing beneath the table, Bea, Hazel and the kids arguing happily over their game, until Amelia finished her last plan this side of Christmas and decided enough was enough.

Putting the plans to one side, she glanced at the lupine form at her feet and came to the conclusion that she was quite comfortable if he was. Instead of getting up, she simply summoned a book from the library, causing not a little surprise when it zoomed over the heads of her friends. She caught it deftly and grinned at Bea and Hazel's shocked expressions.

It wasn't often she did blatant magic in front of them, but here, with Sirius, Hermione and Harry around, it seemed more natural.

"Sorry," she said. "I'll warn you next time."

"You'd better," Bea grumbled.

Amelia sent her aunt a complacent smile, content that she wasn't really annoyed, and settled into a rather dense book on Animagus transformations. It turned out to be insanely convoluted, and by the time Hermione had been declared the winner and the four of them had moved on to a spirited game of Ticket to Ride, Amelia had a headache. Admitting defeat, she extracted her feet from beneath her husband, who was, by now, fast asleep, she left the others to it and padded back to the library, enjoying the feel of the cool stone flags under her bare feet.

 _That's going to be unpleasant in winter_ , she thought, and made a note to bring home her heavy, woollen slipper boots back from Hogwarts with her.

Sirius was still glaring at a book when she walked through the door, a look of intense concentration and intense annoyance on his face. Taking pity on him, she cleared her throat. He looked up, blearily.

"Fancy a distraction?" she asked, re-shelving the poorly written textbook.

" _Yes_ ," he said, without a moment's hesitation. "These things are driving me mental."

"I've got a bottle of wine in the fridge," she said.

"That, Mrs Lupin, is the best offer I have had in weeks."

Amelia snorted. "I'll tell Remus you said that," she teased.

"I'll tell him you offered." He grinned, following her along the corridor with all the lightness of a man who had spent most of his youth sneaking around. "Where is Moony, anyway?"

"Asleep under the dining table," said Amelia, and told him about the sulking.

Sirius barked a laugh. "Yeah, he always was a bit sensitive about that. I mean, I kind of get where he's coming from, with it not being his choice and all, but still. He worries too much. It's better with the potion, though."

Amelia wholeheartedly agreed. Having seen the aftermath of a transformation without potion (and the transformation itself, at the end of Hermione's third year) she didn't want her husband ever to have to go through that again.

"I think he has a lot to worry about," she reflected, as her friend rummaged for wine glasses. "But you're right – he lets it take over sometimes. I suppose we all have moments like that."

"Yeah, but he's been like that since we were kids," Sirius reminded her.

She nodded, following him back to the library, privately thinking that a threat of shunning, dismemberment or death if he were ever exposed was the kind of thing that would make anyone a little apt to anxiety.

"I was meaning to pick your brain, actually," said Amelia, when they had installed themselves at either end of the comfortable sofa.

"About what?" Sirius asked, passing her a glass of wine.

"Animagus transformations. I've been trying to study it – Minerva's given me a list of texts – but I just can't get my head around it."

"Yeah," Sirius chuckled. "They are a bit dense, aren't they? Which ones have you tried?"

Amelia gave him a brief list of the tomes she had struggled her way through over the past couple of weeks, and Sirius winced at every single one.

"To be honest with you, after we'd read through them, me and Prongs figured most things out instinctively," he admitted, and Amelia snorted, unsurprised. "The meditation was a drag, but seeing Moony the way he was after every transformation…" He shook his head. "We knew we had to get through it for him."

Amelia nodded. It was one of the reasons becoming an Animagi was a priority for her, too. "Even so, I think I'd enjoy watching you trying to sit still for an extended period," she teased, and he grinned.

"It wasn't easy."

"The mandrake leaf thing," Amelia began, thinking back to some of the earliest notes she'd made. "Is that strictly necessary?"

"What, carrying one around in your mouth for a month?" Sirius queried, contemplating his wine. "Sadly, yes. And they taste disgusting, I can assure you."

"Great."

He laughed at the face she was pulling. "Don't worry, after the first ten minutes your mouth sort of goes numb. You can have a new one in each day, which helps with the squeam. Keeping it there all night and not swallowing it is the hardest part – though talking and eating were pretty trying too, as I recall."

"Urgh," Amelia groaned. "I suppose I'd better make a start on that now, then. I don't want to be trying to lecture with that in my mouth."

"No," Sirius laughed. "Plus, if some of the older students spotted it they'd figure it out and you'd probably have to register."

"Mmm," Amelia mused. "I have to say, the penalties for not registering are pretty steep."

"Well, you can kind of understand why," Sirius remarked, amused. "People could get up to all sorts of things as an unregistered Animagus – I did!"

Amelia laughed. "Yeah, like breaking out of prison."

"And into the kitchens, and stealing books, and spying on the Slytherins when we were at school," he added, with a touch of pride.

"I bet you were a menace," Amelia told him, smirking.

"I'm hurt, Mrs Lupin, hurt and offended."

"Whatever."

"There's a bit in _Great Wizards of the Twentieth Century_ that could be helpful," Sirius recommended, after a moment's thought. "And in _A History of Merlin._ He's supposed to be the first recorded Animagus, you know – or, at least, someone we think is him was. He had a bit of a thing for disguises, did Merlin."

"Falco Aesalon?" Amelia asked, recalling her reading, and Sirius nodded. "Yeah, I read about that. I imagine it came as something of a surprise to the people pursuing him."

"Tricky old bugger," Sirius observed, with affection.

"I've had a bit more luck with the _Journal of the International Symposium of Animagi_ , but that seems to mostly be people complaining about other animagi."

"You know wizards, they like to irritate each other."

They chuckled.

"Tell you what," Sirius offered, shifting so he was cross-legged at the end of the sofa. "I'll see if Minerva would mind me helping you practice. She's got a lot on her plate this term."

"We all have," Amelia remarked. "But I'd very much appreciate that."

"The instinctive way is marginally more dangerous, and I can't see Minerva going for that, so… maybe don't mention that part?"

Amelia chuckled. "Alright, but I can guarantee my husband will try to talk me into being more cautious."

"He did with us," Sirius recalled. "Didn't always get through."

"So I hear," Amelia said, laughing. "Alright, you're on. Not totally sure I trust you enough to sit still with my eyes closed in your vicinity, but hey!"

Sirius grinned. "You'll be safe with me, love, Marauder's honour!"

"Marauders have honour?"

They fell into good natured bickering for a while, until a movement in the doorway caught Sirius's attention. "Moony!" he cried, delighted, but Remus simply gave him a baleful look and continued on into the kitchen. Sirius laughed. "We're in trouble now," he said, jovially poking Amelia in the foot.

She giggled. "Drinking wine and talking Transfiguration without him! How could we?"

"We're –" He struggled to pull a mournful expression for a moment. "We're really in the doghouse!"

They were both still roaring with laughter when Remus padded back in, carrying his bowl in his mouth. He set it down in front of Sirius, pointedly, and glared at him.

"I'm pretty sure you shouldn't give alcohol to canines," said Sirius, his eyes glittering.

"Well, we've already broken that rule," Amelia pointed out, entertained. "You're drinking."

He barked another laugh. "Touché."

Remus glared at him, but not with any great conviction, given that he was already pouring a measure of wine into his old friend's bowl.

"I love that we live somewhere where that is not weird," remarked Hazel, on the way past to the kitchen.

Remus' head shot round as the other two burst out laughing again, but the radiographer had already disappeared along the corridor and out of sight. He huffed and curled up on the rug.

Sirius sighed, his good humour subsiding somewhat. He closed the elderly tome on the coffee table and pushed the scroll of parchment he'd been making notes on to one side.

"All that scholarliness getting to you?" Amelia asked, half-joking. She'd glanced at the books earlier in the day and knew that they were dense and written in faded, largely illegible handwriting, for the most part.

"As fascinating as vampires initially seem, the records of their meetings are bloody tedious," he remarked.

This elicited a snort of amusement from the wolf on the floor, pausing between reasonably dignified slurps of wine.*

"Probably because they've been around for a while," Amelia suggested.

"I'll be happier when I'm actually there, talking to them," Sirius admitted, pushing a hand through his dark hair. "Even if there is the potential they might suck my blood if I annoy them."

"I'd watch yourself if I were you," said Amelia, amused.

 _You could irritate a rock,_ her husband observed, and Amelia relayed this comment to Sirius, who pulled a face at him.

"I'm hoping the Alchemists will be easier to talk to," said Sirius. "Generally if you get them talking, they'll never shut up. It's getting them to listen that's the real problem."

"I've been to the Alchemist's museum in Prague," said Amelia. "Got a night off when I was roadie for a band touring in the city. It's a nice little museum – though the tour guide I had was particularly batty. Looking back, he was probably a wizard."

Remus nodded.

"There aren't any muggles working there," Sirius said. "It would be too difficult to keep things secret."

Amelia hmmed her agreement, taking another sip of wine. "Have you got a date for the meeting yet?"

"No," said Sirius, looking weary. "After Harry's hearing, with any luck."

 _Likely the same time as mine_ , Remus thought, in Amelia's direction.

She frowned. "If you're both off at the same time there's a part of me that wonders whether I ought to move us all to Grimmauld place for a couple of days."

 _Safer._

She nodded at her husband, but Sirius shook his head.

"Physcially, maybe, but with my mother's portrait there you'd be better off here, trust me." He chuckled, though it didn't entirely disguise the shadows that had formed on his face at the mention of his unpleasant parent. "Besides, I reckon you could take a couple of Death Eaters, between you."

"Maybe," said Amelia, thinking she needed to get in a few more duelling practice sessions before either ex-Marauder left on their missions, glad that hers would be largely based at home.

 _Your reading might be quite good for that._

She glanced at Remus, who was watching her quite intently.

"What am I missing?" Sirius asked, almost petulantly.

He hated being out of the loop.

"Remus suggested my reading could be useful when it comes to duelling," she relayed.

"That's not a bad idea," said Sirius thoughtfully. "Moony tells me it borders on Legilimency at times –"

Remus nodded emphatically.

"And that really is useful in a fight – you can predict your opponent's next moves, get a leg up, so to speak."

Amelia nodded slowly. It had occurred to her during the duel she and Remus had had with Barty Crouch Junior the previous May. "I'm not sure I can control it enough yet," she remarked. "Or that it wouldn't be too distracting."

She smiled when Remus laid a paw on her knee.

 _Practice makes perfect, love._

0o0

*If you've ever seen a dog drinking, you'll know exactly how undignified that might actually be!


	14. Decontamination Stations

"I've never been on the Tube before," said Neville, peering around the busy station with some interest.

"What do you think?" Hermione asked, hoiking her backpack a little further up her shoulder.

They were standing outside a burrito place, waiting for Amelia to conquer the ridiculous queue in the ticket office. She'd allowed them to go off and get their own lunch, Hermione suspected, to give them the illusion of freedom. It was something Harry badly needed, since he was essentially under house arrest.

Apparently, Molly Weasley was assembling a work group to do some serious cleaning in the place none of the adults seemed willing to talk about, and they had been 'volunteered' to help. Ordinarily, Hermione would have been quite miffed about this, particularly as her Aunt Bea's pool was looking very inviting over the summer, and she'd finished most of her essays for the new term. However, Amelia had conveyed their assignment in such a way that told Hermione this was likely to be one of their only opportunities to snoop around, particularly given the conspiratorial looks Remus and Sirius had exchanged when they're heard.

Her cousin had advised them to bring rough clothes though, so she expected they would be in for it.

Neville thought about it for a moment. "I like it," he decided. "Even if I do currently feel like a bit of a sardine."

"You should try it near Christmas," Harry told him, with a grin. "The Dursleys used to drag me around it every December, everyone bundled up like – like human burritos," he said, waving his lunch for effect, "because of the freezing mist on the surface, and it'd be about a hundred degrees down here. I'd be carrying a stack of presents for Dudley and jammed into less than a square foot of space because about ten million other people had had the exact same idea."

Hermione looked at him. It sounded like he ought to be grumbling, but the expression on his face was one of fond remembrance.

"You kind of loved it, didn't you?" she guessed, and Harry nodded.

"Sometimes it was so busy I'd get stuck on the tube with the packages and they'd carry on and forget about me for a while. It was great!"

Hermione laughed, and privately thought that if muggle child services ever got wind of the things the Dursleys got up to with Harry (and Dudley, in fact) they'd be prosecuted, sued and splashed all over _The Daily Mail_.

"I like the history of it," she said, as the three of them moved out of the way of a crocodile of children on a summer club trip to one of the museums. "Even just the muggle stuff is wonderfully weird."

She told them about Bumper Harris, the man with the wooden leg who'd been employed to ride the first elevators all day so people wouldn't be afraid of them, and the ghost of the well-dressed gentleman at Covent Garden station who had probably been murdered on his way out of the theatre above.

"I thought muggles couldn't see ghosts," Neville remarked, between mouthfuls of Mexican chicken.

"Yeah, that's always bothered me," said Harry. "I mean, at Hogwarts all the classes say that, but the number of ghost stories and television shows kind of suggest the opposite."

Hermione nodded. "I think our world has a tendency to underestimate muggles and their abilities, and assume they're stupid."

"Yeah. Look at all the comics." Neville agreed. "You'd think people were completely incapable of surviving, the way they go on, but they've built all this..." He gestured around him. "I mean, London's on clay and chalk, and there's a whacking great river smack in the middle of it, and the muggles built basically a whole town down here – without magic."

"Mmm," said Harry, through a mouthful of burrito. "I wonder if it's more that people with some magical talent, but not enough to get into Hogwarts, actually _can_ see things," Harry mused. "Or if most people, magical or otherwise, can see stuff and either write it off somehow, or actively ignore it if they don't want to believe in it."

"Quite a few of Mel's muggle friends have seen ghosts," Hermione added, "so it's probably not related to magical talent."

"So, are there lots of ghost stories on the Tube?" Neville asked.

"So many!" Mel said, coming up behind them. "Oyster cards." She made to hand them out, then paused, holding them up for a moment. "Now these are not a licence for rambling. They ought to be, given you're all fifteen now, but given world events..." She gave a sad shrug. "Probably best not to, this summer."

"Thanks Mel."

"Thanks."

"Thanks Miss."

"I've told you before, Neville, I'm not your teacher over the summer," Amelia protested, and the other boy smiled sheepishly. "I'm just your friend's weird cousin."

"Well, you've got that right," Hermione remarked, handing her a burrito.

"Come on, escalators," said Mel, and waited on the far side of the ticket barriers for them to scan their cards and get through, trying to avoid the other passengers who all had their 'London heads' on and were paying no attention to anyone else's personal space if they were between them and where they needed to get to.

At the top of the first escalator, which (as usual) seemed particularly vertiginous to Hermione, who had a bit of a dislike for heights, Mel turned around (which made Hermione's stomach do a little flip). "So, ghost stories…"

As her cousin launched into a comprehensive discussion of one of her favourite subjects, Hermione tightened her grip on the handrail, then loosened it again, realising belatedly that it was one of those that was slightly out of time with the moving stairs.

"The first one I ever heard about was Bethnal Green," said Mel, with some relish. "I had a mate who was doing a bit of exploratory work when they put in a new signal room. Anyway, she was working late one night – you can't do a watching brief for TFL in the daytime, you'd never get anything done – in one of the old service corridors behind the offices, and every time she and her colleague got stuck in someone knocked on the door to the office behind them. Every time one of them went to open it, there was no one there. This happened all shift – they put it down to kids at first, but then why would there be kids around at 3 a.m. in an empty station?"

She paused as they reached the bottom and led them along a long, tubular passageway.

"I'm guessing it wasn't a kid," said Harry, dodging a business woman with a bright pink suitcase.

"No, it was," said Mel, flashing him a grin. "Just not one they could see. After a while, the knocking stopped and the screaming started – just one at first, in the distance, then another and another, until it sounded like the whole world was screaming. And in these tunnels, sound really travels. My friend said all the hairs all over her body stood up at once."

"That sounds terrifying," said Neville, gaping at her.

Amelia nodded. "She and her colleague packed up as fast as they could and left – they refused to go back."

"So what was it?"

"Bethnal Green was a public shelter during the war, like most of the other Tube stations, and it got a direct hit. Almost everyone in there died that night. A hundred and seventy-three people – mostly women and children."

"I'm glad I've never been there at night," Hermione – who'd heard the story before – reflected, as they began descending the next set of escalators.

"Apparently it happens all the time," said Amelia. "Charlie said there isn't a single staff member on that platform that hasn't heard it."

"So that's less a ghost like the ones at school and more like a… a record or something?" Harry asked.

Mel nodded again. "Residual rather than intelligent," she clarified. "Five points to Gryffindor. Some of them are obviously residual, like that, but others are harder to make out. They're sort of intelligent, in that they seem to connect with people, but they seem to be trapped in their final moments. Like the guy at Covent Garden, or the woman in the entrance tunnel at King's Cross."

"I've never seen her," said Hermione, surprised.

"Nor me," said Neville, "and me and Gran always come in at King's Cross when we come down."

"I have," said Mel, and there was something about the way she said it, and the faintest of shadows around her eyes that told Hermione that it had been a particularly haunting experience. "She was crouched down to one side, sobbing uncontrollably," she said, in a faraway sort of voice. She gazed down the line of commuters on the other escalator, clearly a little lost in the remembrance of it. "She was dressed pretty normally, jeans and a t-shirt. I thought she was alive at first. Her arms were outstretched as if she was begging for help, but the moment I started towards her she vanished. It was like watching a video on Youtube. Poor thing, stuck in a loop like that."

"Was she murdered, do you think?" Harry asked, as they came out into a fresh maze of tunnels.

"No, I should think she died in the fire in the eighties," said Mel, and piloted them onto a platform.

It was hot down there at the height of summer, and more than a few people were swatting at the London Underground's own species of mosquito. Hermione smiled slightly. The Tube had always felt exciting to her, like the beginning of an adventure – even before her parents had taken her to King's Cross that first summer, four years before. She breathed in the peculiar fragrance of hot air, tunnel and soot that was all the Underground's own as Mel told her friends the story of the ghost train that had appeared at South Kensington in 1928.

She closed her eyes, briefly, as the whoosh of warm air that always preceded a train swept along the platform, imagining all the millions of souls that had passed this way before her, and the few that seemed for have got left behind, over the years.

Unable to find seats, since it was a sunny day in the capital and even the muggle schools – which Hermione recalled had shorter holidays – were out, the four of them leaned against doors and windows as their carriage shot through the underbelly of London, rattling like the suits of armour at school did, when Peeves had taken up residence.

"What's the scariest one?" Neville asked, as they came to a halt at the next station and the doors slid open with that chime that always put Hermione in mind of the melody from the movie _Hook._

 _That's going to be stuck in my head for days,_ she thought, with mild annoyance.

"Ooh, that's a tough one," said Amelia, thoughtfully. "A lot of them are just passengers or engineers getting on with their day to day business – albeit in the afterlife. I suppose there are two that creep me out the most. The first is the one about the guy in blue overalls at Moorgate on the Northern Line in the 1970s, who walked up to people and as he got nearer a look of abject horror would cross his face and then he'd sort of get sucked backwards into the tunnel wall."

"Urgh," Hermione shuddered. "He's the one that's supposed to have either predicted or caused the tube crash in 1975, isn't he?"

"That's the one," said Mel. "He could have been a go-before, or a kind of haint, I guess. The other one is Page's Walk, which is a service tunnel behind Embankment. Staff only and apparently hideous to be in," she added. "People say you feel oppressed while you're in there, like something is trying to get at you. I don't like the idea of being in a long, narrow passageway with no exits and something unknown trying to mess with you."

"No," said Harry, with a grimace.

"I've always hated Bank," Hermione said, after a while. "I mean, it clearly wasn't intended to be a place where several lines met –"

"No," Amelia agreed. "When they built it they couldn't imagine people wanting to change lines without having to return to the surface in between."

"It's always hot and busy, and kind of labyrinthine," Hermione went on. "But the ticket office is the worst. I can never get out of there quick enough – particularly when it's getting dark."

"How come?" asked Neville, interested.

Hermione thought about it for a moment, frowning. "I'm not sure. It just creeps me out in a big way."

"Well, when they built it they had to move the contents of the crypt of St Mary Woolnoth," Mel told them. "And some of the permanent residents were probably unhappy about that."

"How do you even know this stuff?" Hermione asked, in fond exasperation.

"Archaeologist," Mel shrugged. "We're fonts of random knowledge."

"What about ghost stations?" Harry asked. "I've always liked the sound of those."

"Ghost stations?" Neville asked, fascinated, and Harry (apparently happy to have something to contribute) told him about the abandoned and closed stations, and how some were used for storage or filming TV programmes, while others were used by government bodies for gods only knew what.

"There's one at the British Museum," said Amelia, when he had finished. "I used to think it was just abandoned, but Remus tells me there's a wizarding museum down there, and a vast archive, stretching back for centuries. I think he'd rather like to go," she added, fondly. "This is us. Head for the lifts – I'm not walking up the eternal bloody spiral."

0o0

It wasn't long before Hermione, Harry, Neville and the four youngest Weasleys were standing in the dingy kitchen at Grimmauld Place, all looking vaguely mutinous.

They had been quite excited about their introduction to the building, particularly that they were being let into the secret of the Order of the Phoenix. For ten whole minutes, while they changed into the old clothes they had brought with them, they had thought that they were finally going to be able to make a difference in the war none of them had any illusions about was well on its way.

Then, of course, Molly had announced that they were required to help with the cleaning – and only the cleaning. They would not be allowed in meetings; they would not be helping with missions; they would not be allowed to participate in any discussions. They were, essentially, skivvies.

This was not sitting very well with them.

"But we're of age!" Fred Weasley complained, for about the fifth time.

Molly had gone upstairs to clear anything Order-related (or obviously deadly) from the first room, leaving Remus and Amelia to prevent potential mutiny.

"I know," said Remus, with an air of finality, "but she's your mum, and she's pretty immovable on this particular point." He put up a hand to quell further argument. "And the rest of you _are_ underage. I don't want to hear any more about it."

"After all, it would be a terrible shame if – during the course of cleaning – one or two of you found ways to listen in," said Amelia, then immediately pretended she had done no such thing.

Remus sent her a fond look as the kids exchanged conspiratorial looks.

 _I wish I'd met you twenty years ago_ , he thought.

"This place is packed to the rafters with dark magic and magical creatures, so keep on your toes," he said, bringing seven sullen teenagers back to task. "Fred, George – as you keep reminding us, you're of age. So you two, Molly, Amelia and I will be testing objects for curses – don't worry, we'll show you how to do that in a minute. We'll also be dealing with some of the nastier 'tenants'."

"So far, we've come across three Boggarts, a very unexpected Hinkypunk and an entire wardrobe full of Doxies," said Amelia, on their worried expressions.

"The rest of you, I'm afraid, will mostly be fetching and carrying, and we'll all be cleaning."

"Well, you less," said Amelia, ignoring her young friends' groans. She nodded at the stick he was leaning on. "You have special dispensation – and if anything needs poking you're our man."

Remus gave her a withering look that he didn't mean at all. Post full-moon, despite the wonders of the Wolfsbane potion, he was always rather stiff. The stick came in handy, though, partly because it made people think he was weak (and therefore either unlikely to be a werewolf or unlikely to be a threat), and partly because he could use it as a bludgeon if Sirius annoyed him too much.

He followed the cleaning party upstairs to what had once been a ballroom (and the Order wanted for duelling and target practice), wondering whether he ought to learn to use it as a staff.

0o0

"I hid three of them in the Ballroom," said Ron, in a low voice.

"And I got two in the Library," Ginny added, in an undertone.

"We've got to get an even distribution if this is going to work," said Hermione.

George nudged her ribs with his elbow. "We'd never have thought of connecting the Extendable Ears up like this," he whispered, grinning. "Hermione Granger, super spy!"

Hermione blushed.

"Are you sure the transmitter thingy will work?" Fred asked.

"Yes," Hermione assured him. "It should be fine. It's plugged in to the battery pack and insulated from magic – and it'll transmit to The Burrow and Pear Tree Farm, and that way we'll have at least some idea what's going on."

"I hope they don't spot it," said Harry.

Neville snorted. "I'd never have thought to look for non-magical spying equipment – and I bet no one else in the Order would either, apart from your cousin."

Amelia, who had been eavesdropping, smiled slightly, pleased that her students were creative, sneaky little buggers when they wanted to be.

"And Ginny has mum convinced Kreacher's leaving the Extendable Ears all over the place," said Ron, with a touch of filial pride.

"They won't suspect a thing!" said Fred, cheerfully.

"They will if you keep talking conspiratorially in the corner," Amelia observed, putting a stack of plates in front of the group. She grinned at their dismayed expressions, but forbore from further comment. "Molly wants you to lay the table," she said, nodding towards the far end of the kitchen, from where the woman in question was about to bear down on them.

Taking the hint, the kids scattered, making themselves suspiciously helpful, even after a full, hot, dusty (and occasionally explosive) day of cleaning.

"Nice work on that Boggart, by the way," Amelia said to George as he passed.

"Cheers Mi-" He coughed. "Cheers Amelia. Had a good teacher!"

She grinned, and looked at her husband, who was currently engaged in deep conversation with Kingsley Shacklebolt and Nymphadora Tonks.

"That you did," she murmured, with affection.

The meeting, as predicted, was long, tense and tedious, and the kids had disappeared upstairs grumbling. Amelia had a suspicion that the second the kitchen door had closed they had spread about the house, hiding Extendable Ears and raiding the more suspect parts of the Black Library.

Some of the other members of the Order might be able to kid themselves that the kids were behaving themselves, talking quietly in one of the bedrooms they had been banished to, but Amelia was not one of them.

"You give them too much latitude," Severus observed.

He had been lurking in the shadows behind the table, staying out of things. His report had been detailed and useful, but it still made Amelia distinctly uncomfortable that he had to put himself in such direct danger.

"This is a war, not a game."

"You don't think they know that?" Amelia asked, thinking of Neville's parents, or the forced cheer the Weasleys had been displaying since Charlie had shipped back out to Romania.

They shared a brief, troubled look before Severus looked away. "I suppose I knew, at their age."

"I wish you'd let me look at your shoulder," Amelia said, eyeing her friend's tight posture. "It's obviously hurting you, and Poppy's been training me up."

"While the Dark Lord is content that I have returned of my own volition, some of the others are not," he said, after a moment.

"Duel?"

"Ambush. They came off worse, however." There was something about his voice when he said it.

Amelia met her friends' eyes for a moment and nodded, wondering whether that meant his attackers had limped away, or were simply no longer a problem. That was the thing about war, she reflected. You couldn't feel too bad about the enemy getting hurt or killed because at least it meant there were fewer of them.

"Still," she said. "I'm going to look at your shoulder whether you like it or not. Upstairs – or I'll tell Bea that you're hurt and not letting me check you over, and she'll knock you out with her frying pan."

Severus glared at her for a moment before the expression cracked and he gave a weary chuckle. "Fine, I suppose I have no choice."

"That's better," she said, and escorted him up to one of the empty bedrooms.

When he took off his robes and peeled off his shirt, Amelia grimaced. The pale skin of his back was mottled with black and purple, spreading from a nasty looking wound on his right shoulder. It looked, to Amelia's previously muggle eye, like something had hit him in the back and then splashed.

"Cowards," she muttered, angry on her friend's behalf. "You've used a salve?"

"Yes," he said quietly, and Amelia suspected he was responded to both comments. "But –"

"But it's hard to treat your own back," she finished. "The one with Dittany in or the one with boiled Flobberworms?"

"The latter. Dittany's of little use until the after-effects of the curse die down."

Amelia shuddered. "Yuck. So you need a counter curse?"

"A strong one – if," he added, with a hint of mischief, "you think you're up to it."

She stuck out her tongue, even though he couldn't see it and set to work. It was tricky, trying to remove something particularly clingy from living flesh without damaging it further, and by the time she was finished she was sweating slightly.

"There. Dittany?"

He handed it to her, already looking marginally less tense, and she applied the delicate liquid, marvelling at how quickly it knitted his flesh together and wincing every time it started to steam. Severus barely flinched, but there was something about the depth of silence that told her it really hurt.

"Strange," he said, when he was buttoning up his shirt and Amelia was cleaning her hands in the basin. "Somehow I always imagined Black's house as rich and grand, and comfortable," he mused, looking around the room with mild distaste. "It's obviously grand – or, at least, it's obvious that it used to be."

"Mmm," Amelia agreed, drying her hands on her jeans. "Sometimes it's easy to forget that family wealth does not always guarantee happiness."

Severus nodded thoughtfully.

"Sometimes I almost understand him," he reflected.

Amelia laughed. "And then he opens his mouth?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Yes."


	15. Disorder of the Phoenix

By the time they got back downstairs the kitchen was already filling back up with members of the Order, many of whom had stuck around after the meeting to consult the library, have more private chats in other rooms, or get in a bit of duelling practice. Pipe smoke hung in wreaths around the low ceiling, and Molly was tutting at it, over her cooking.

Amelia, who had done enough biology to know exactly what passive smoking could do to a person, had to agree.

Bill and Arthur had their heads together at one end of the table, while Remus and Tonks were helping the kids set the table – around Mundungus Fletcher, who had fallen asleep about as soon as the meeting had started. The kids were watchful and a little too obedient, which boded well for their Extendable Ears experiment.

Amelia took a seat as the door at the top of the staircase leading into the kitchen.

"All I'm saying, Kingsley, is that Basil's alright. He might be able to keep an eye on things for us from his Department," Sirius was saying. "Ask Arthur, he's –"

Molly cleared her throat loudly, crossed her arms and glared pointedly at Sirius, at the kids, and then back at him again. The aging Marauder fell largely silent, instead grumbling to himself under his breath. Instead, he went and clapped Dung on the back, startling the man awake.

"What? Yeah – I agree with Sirius!" he mumbled, sleepily.

"The meeting's over," said Ginny, helpfully, trying not to laugh.

"Oh." He wiped his nose on the back of a grimy sleeve. "Who've we got here?"

Sirius rolled his eyes and introduced the kids, who looked somewhere between horrified and desperately interested. When he came to Harry, Dung winced.

"You alright, Harry?" he asked, peering balefully at him.

"Yeah," Harry responded, puzzled, as Dung fumbled nervously in his pockets and pulled out a grimy black pipe.

He stuck it in his mouth and was about to ignite the end when Molly – who had been carrying a basket of bread over – knocked it out of his hands.

"For the last time, Mundungus, not in the kitchen," she said briskly, and carried on, leaving him sputtering his apologies.

He coughed awkwardly and returned his gaze to Harry's increasingly bewildered face. "Oew you a 'pology," he grunted, and Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Oh yeah?"

"I wouldn't 'ave left," said Mundungus, leaning forward, a pleading note in his voice, "but I 'ad a business opportunity –"

"Ever the reluctant revolutionary, eh Dung?" Remus observed, lowering himself into the chair next to Amelia rather gingerly.

Dung coughed again and stopped talking. They hadn't said anything, but she had a suspicion Arthur and Remus had taken Dung to one side and had a quiet word about not abandoning one's post in order to sell knocked off potions in a pub in Cornwall. He was still a bit quiet and sheepish around them.

"Sirius," said Dung, changing the subject. "This goblet, is it solid silver, mate?"

"Yes," said Sirius easily. "Finest fifteenth-century goblin-wrought silver, embossed with the Black family crest."

"That'd come orf, though," muttered Dung, polishing it with his cuff.

"You know, you're right," said Sirius, brightening up. He picked up his own goblet and examined it. "If it didn't have the crest I wouldn't hate it… and it's still technically mine, so if any of them go missing I'll know where to look."

Dung coughed again, but before he could respond, Molly started shrieking at the twins. "Fred – George – NO, JUST CARRY THEM!"

It was all the warning they needed, Amelia, Remus, Sirius, Dung and the kids shot away from the table – and just in time. Fred and George had bewitched a large cauldron of stew, an iron flagon of Butterbeer and a heavy wooden breadboard, complete with knife, to hurtle through the air towards them. The stew skidded the length of the table and came to a halt just before the end, leaving a long black burn on the wooden surface; the flagon of Butterbeer fell with a crash, spilling its contents everywhere, the bread knife slipped off the board and landed, point down and quivering ominously, exactly where Sirius' right hand had been seconds before.

"FOR HEAVEN'S SAKE!" Molly yelled. "THERE WAS NO NEED – I'VE HAD JUST ABOUT ENOUGH OF THIS – JUST BECAUSE YOU'RE ALLOWED TO USE MAGIC NOW, YOU DON'T HAVE TO WHIP YOUR WANDS OUT FOR EVERY TINY LITTLE THING!"

"We were just trying to save a bit of time!" said Fred, hurrying forward to wrench the bread knife out of the table. "Sorry, Sirius, mate – didn't mean to!"

Sirius, Harry, Ron and Ginny were laughing; the others were picking themselves up, trying not to smile. Dung, who had toppled backwards off his chair, was swearing as he got to his feet.

Amelia allowed her husband to help her up and dusted herself off.

"They're a bloody menace," Severus remarked, extracting Ginny from under the table.

"Yes," the girl agreed, unexpectedly, "but you get used to it."

"They remind me of some other menaces I could mention," the Potions Master added darkly, and Remus nodded with mild amusement.

"Boys," Arthur said, lifting the stew back into the middle of the table, "your mother's right, you're supposed to show a sense of responsibility now you've come of age –"

"None of your brothers caused this sort of trouble!" Molly raged at the twins as she slammed a fresh flagon of Butterbeer onto the table, and spilling almost as much again. "Bill didn't feel the need to Apparate every few feet! Charlie didn't charm everything he met! Percy –"

She stopped dead, catching her breath with a distressed look at her husband, whose expression had suddenly become wooden.

"Let's eat," said Bill quickly.

"It smells wonderful, Molly," said Remus, one of nature's peacekeepers, ladling stew onto a plate for her and handing it across the table.

"Yes," Amelia agreed, pouring a large measure of Butterbeer for Arthur, and piloting him into a chair.

For a few minutes there was silence but for the chink of plates and cutlery and the scraping of chairs as everyone settled down to their food. Then Molly turned to Sirius.

"I've been meaning to tell you, Sirius, there's something trapped in that writing desk in the drawing room. It keeps rattling and shaking. Of course, it could just be a Boggart, but I thought we ought to ask Alastor to have a look at it before we let it out."

Sirius paused, and thought about it. "Probably a good idea. Merlin only knows what might have taken up residence in that thing." He sighed, looking weary. "It's not a bad desk."

Amelia glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, sensing the wave of emotional turmoil, and wondered what painful memories could be associated with it. Unbidden, the image of a small, black haired boy glaring insolently at a handsome, cold looking man rose in her mind. The man appeared to be demanding something about a beautiful enamel and noticeably empty pot.

"It was my father's. I used to pinch sweets out of it. He always caught me, but… I didn't know how else to register my discontent. I don't know if mummy dearest used it after he died," he pulled a face. "Given how vicious the mad old bat was she could be unusually sentimental at times."

Molly patted his hand, which brought him back to himself. "The curtains are full of Doxys, too," she said gently. "Perhaps they ought to be destroyed?"

Sirius looked up at her and laughed. "Molly Weasley, are you actually inviting me to set fire to something on purpose?" he asked.

"Well, it seems to do wonders for your state of mind," she quipped. "But don't let my boys hear I said that," she added, glowering at the far end of the table, where Fred and George were attempting to be inconspicuous.

A little further along the table, Tonks was entertaining Hermione, Neville and Ginny by transforming her nose between mouthfuls. Screwing up her eyes each time with a pained expression, her nose swelled to a beak-like protuberance, shrank to the size of a button mushroom and then sprouted a great deal of hair from each nostril.

Further along, Remus, Arthur and Bill were engaged in a very intense discussion about goblins.

"They're not giving anything away yet," said Bill. "I still can't work out whether or not they believe he's back. Course, they might prefer not to take sides at all. Keep out of it."

"I'm sure they'd never go over to You-Know-Who," said Arthur, shaking his head. "They've suffered losses too; remember that goblin family he murdered last time, somewhere near Nottingham?"

"I think it depends on what they're offered," said Remus. "And I'm not talking about gold. If they're offered the freedoms we've been denying them for centuries they're going to be tempted. Have you still not had any luck with Ragnok, Bill?"

"He's feeling pretty anti-wizard at the moment," said Bill. "He hasn't stopped raging about the Bagman business. He reckons the Ministry did a cover-up. Those goblins never got their gold from him, you know –"

A gale of laughter from the far end of the table drowned the rest of Bill's words. Fred, George, Ron, Harry and Mundungus were rolling around in their seats.

"… and then," choked Dung, tears running down his face, and then, if you'll believe it, 'e says to me, 'e says, ''Ere, Dung, where didja get all them toads from? 'Cos some son of a Bludger's gone and nicked all mine!' And I says, 'Nicked all your toads, Will, what next? So you'll be wanting some more, then?' And if you'll believe me, lads, the gormless gargoyle buys all 'is own toads back orf me for a lot more'n what 'e paid in the first place –"

"I don't think we need to hear any more of your business dealings, thank you very much, Mundungus," said Molly sharply, as Ron and Harry slumped forward onto the table, howling with laughter.

"Beg pardon, Molly," said Dung at once, wiping his eyes and winking at the boys. "But, you know, Will nicked them orf Warty Harris in the first place so I wasn't really doing nothing wrong."

"I don't know where you learned about right and wrong, Mundungus, but you seem to have missed a few crucial lessons," said Molly coldly.

Fred and George buried their faces in their goblets of Butterbeer; George was hiccupping. Molly threw a very nasty look at Mundungus before getting to her feet and going to fetch a large rhubarb crumble for pudding.

Amelia shared a speaking look with Severus as Sirius explained in an undertone to the kids why Molly didn't particularly like the old crook.

"And this is the core of the resistance?" he murmured, but only half-seriously.

He felt the same way as the others did about Voldemort – and Molly's rhubarb crumble was particularly good.

"Absolutely," said Amelia. "Our weirdness is what will make us fight – oddballs like us know we need to stand up for each other, and for everyone else, because we understand what happens if systematic bullying is the norm."

Severus raised his eyebrows in acknowledgment. "But…" he pulled a face. "Children? And civil servants, and housewives, and teachers?"

"Who else is there?" He nodded again, and Amelia smiled. He was only arguing out of habit. "Shut up, you, and eat your custard."

A couple of helpings of crumble later, Amelia was feeling pleasantly tired. It was going to be a bit of a drag, getting the kids across London when everyone was so sleepy.

"Nearly time we were off, I think," said Arthur, with a yawn.

Molly nodded and stretched, ready to start collecting plates.

"Not just yet," said Sirius. "I think, since they've helped us out today, we owe these guys a bit of an explanation."

"No!" said Molly at once. "They're too young."

The atmosphere in the room changed with the rapidity Amelia associated with the arrival of Dementors. Where seconds before it had been sleepily relaxed, it was now alert, even tense. A frisson had gone around the table at Sirius' words. Remus, who had been about to take a sip of wine, lowered his goblet slowly and exchanged a worried look with his wife.

"Molly, they have the right to know," said Sirius, relatively gently. "Particularly Harry, given what's happened."

"They're not in the Order!" Molly snapped. She was sitting bolt upright in her chair, her fists clenched on its arms, every trace of drowsiness gone.

"Since when did someone have to be in the Order of the Phoenix to ask questions?" asked Sirius.

"Hang on!" interrupted George loudly.

"How come Harry gets his questions answered?" said Fred angrily.

" _We've_ been trying to get stuff out of you for a month and you haven't told us a single stinking thing!" said George.

"' _You're too young, you're not in the Order',_ " said Fred, in a high-pitched voice that sounded uncannily like his mother's. "Harry's not even of age!"

"It's not my fault you haven't been told what the Order's doing," said Sirius calmly. "That's your parents' decision, under advice from the senior management. Harry, on the other hand –"

"It's not down to you to decide what's good for Harry!" said Molly sharply.

"Actually, it is," said Amelia, earning herself a glare. "He's Harry's Godfather – legally that makes him the only person in here who _is_ allowed to decide what's good for him."

Molly ignored her, the expression on her normally kind face looking distinctly dangerous. "You haven't forgotten what Dumbledore said, I suppose?"

"Which bit?" Sirius asked politely, but with the air of a man readying himself for a fight.

"The bit about not telling Harry more than he _needs to know_ ," said Molly, placing heavy emphasis on the last three words.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, Neville, Ginny, Fred and George's heads swivelled from Molly to Sirius as though they were watching a tennis match. Remus, Severus and Amelia's eyes were fixed on Sirius, however.

"I don't intend to tell him more than he _needs to know_ , Molly," he said. "But as he was the one who saw Voldemort come back," (a lot of the people around the table tensed at the name), "he has more right than most to –"

"He's not a member of the Order of the Phoenix," said Molly. "He's only fifteen, and –"

"And he's dealt with as much as most in the Order," said Sirius flatly, "and more than some."

"No one's denying what he's done!" said Molly, her voice rising, her fists trembling on the arms of her chair. "But he's still –"

"He's not a child!" said Sirius, beginning to lose patience.

"He's not an adult either!" said Molly, the colour rising in her cheeks.

Amelia well understood her fear – it was something that gripped her whenever she thought of her young cousin willingly marching into danger – but now, on the eve of war, trying to shield the kids from what was coming was the worst thing they could do.

"He's not _James_ , Sirius!"

"I'm perfectly clear who he is, thanks, Molly," said Sirius frowning.

"I'm not sure you are!" said Molly. "Sometimes, the way you talk about him, it's as though you think you've got your best friend back!"

Amelia's eyes flicked over to her husband's face, just quickly enough to register the flash of pain there; it was quickly hidden.

"What's wrong with that?" said Harry.

"What's wrong with it, Harry, is that you are _not_ your father, however much you might look like him!" said Molly, her eyes still boring into Sirius. "You are still at school and the adults responsible for you should not forget it!"

"Meaning I'm an irresponsible Godfather?" demanded Sirius, his voice and colour rising.

"Meaning you have been know to act rashly, Sirius, which –"

"Which has come in handy several times in recent years," said Severus unexpectedly. He coloured a little when everyone turned to stare at him and added, "Though I am loathe to admit it."

"Arthur!" said Molly, rounding on her husband. "Arthur, back me up!"

Arthur did not speak at once. He took off his glasses and cleaned them slowly on his shirt, not looking at his wife. Only when he had replaced them carefully on his nose did he reply.

"Dumbledore knows that the position has changed, Molly. He accepts that Harry will have to be filled in, to an extent, now that he's staying at Pear Tree Farm."

"Yes, but there's a difference between that and inviting him to ask whatever he likes!"

"Personally," said Remus quietly, as Molly turned quickly to him, hoping that finally she was about to get an ally, "I think it better that Harry gets the facts – not all the facts, Molly, but the general picture – from us, rather than a garbled version from… others."

Amelia pursed her lips, thinking of the liberal number of Extendable Ears now spread out about Grimmauld Place.

"Severus?" Molly asked, clutching her last possible straw.

Surprised to be asked, Severus roused himself, thinking for a moment. "It has been my experience that these particular miscreants are eminently skilled at getting into trouble," he said. "And it might be simpler, for once, to tell them what we can so they don't go haring off on the wrong track."

"Well," said Molly, breathing deeply and looking around the table for support that did not come, "well… I can see I'm going to be overruled. I'll just say this: Dumbledore must have had his reasons for not wanting Harry to know too much, and speaking as someone who has Harry's best interests at heart –"

"We all do, Molly," said Sirius, as gently as he could, but she was past listening.

"You're irresponsible – and he hasn't got anyone to care for him –"

"He's got me!" said Sirius, beginning to sound really rather dangerous.

"Yes," said Molly, her lip curling, "the thing is, it's been rather difficult for you to look after him while you've been locked up in Azkaban, hasn't it?"

"Molly, that's enough!" said Amelia sharply, certain that the woman wouldn't have said something if she wasn't so scared for the kids.

Sirius began to rise from his chair.

"Molly, you're not the only person at this table who cares about Harry," said Remus, in a similar tone. "Sirius, sit _down_."

Molly's lower lip was trembling. Sirius sank slowly back into his chair, his face white.

"I think Harry ought to be allowed to a say in this," Remus continued. "He's old enough to decide for himself."

"I want to know what's been going on," Harry said at once, looking nervously between Sirius and Molly.

"Very well," said Molly, her voice cracking. "Ginny – Ron – Hermione – Neville – Fred – George – I want you out of this kitchen this minute."

There was, not unexpectedly, instant uproar.

"We're of age!" Fred and George bellowed together.

"If Harry's allowed, why can't I?" shouted Ron.

"But, Mrs Weasley –" Neville began.

"Mum, I _want_ to hear!" wailed Ginny.

"NO!" shouted Molly, standing up, her eyes over bright. "I absolutely forbid –"

"Molly, you can't stop Fred and George," said Arthur wearily. "They _are_ of age."

"They're still at school."

"But they're legally adults now," said Arthur, in the same tired voice.

Molly was now scarlet in the face. "I – oh, all right then, Fred and George can stay, but Ron –"

"Harry'll tell me and Hermione everything you say anyway!" said Ron hotly. "Won't you?"

"'Course I will," Harry said instantly.

Hermione and Ron beamed at him.

"I don't care!" Molly shouted. "Ron, Neville, Hermione, Ginny – out!"

Hermione and Neville, conscious of the dangerous note in Molly's voice and not as able to argue back as her children, got to their feet, but Amelia caught Hermione's arm.

"Hermione stays," said Amelia quietly. "Sorry Neville, I can't speak for you – though I think you all should be here."

"They're just children! None of them are staying to hear this," Molly snapped, annoyed to find herself so outnumbered. "You don't know what you're saying! You're not a parent!"

Amelia frowned. "I'm not," she agreed. "But if it were Hermione, I'd want her to know – she's old enough to cope with it, though I wish to gods she didn't have to. And I know full well that if I were in her position I'd stop at nothing to find out."

Molly shook her head angrily. "I'm sorry Amelia, but you just can't understand. She's _not_ your daughter."

There was a brief pause as Amelia levelled a cool look at her friend. "No, Molly, she isn't, but I _am_ her guardian – and _I_ say she can stay. She has a right to know what she's facing – just as much as the others do – and, let's face it, if we aren't straight with them now they'll just spend the whole of the next year trying to find out what we're trying to keep from them. And getting into trouble in the process."

Hermione quietly sat back down, looking faintly embarrassed, but also quite excited.

Molly looked like she might explode, but Kingsley Shacklebolt, who had thus far remained aloof, leaned forward.

"I understand your concerns, Molly," he said, in his deep, reassuring voice. "It's awful imagining what might happen to the people you care about, but the way things are going they won't be able to avoid this for much longer. I know you want to protect them, but I don't think you can, just at the moment."

"With all due respect," said Molly, with quite a lot of it because Kingsley was a gentleman and difficult to argue with, "I'll thank you not to tell me how to raise my children!"

"Harry and Hermione are literally going to walk out of here, wait until everyone's asleep at the farm and then tell Ron, Neville and Ginny everything," Tonks pointed out.

She caught a dangerous look from Molly and her hair paled considerably.

"There you have it," said Arthur wearily, still not meeting his wife's eyes.

"I see," said Molly, and sniffed loudly. "I see." And with that, she got up, stalked out of the dingy kitchen and disappeared upstairs.

All eyes followed her progress until they heard the door to the library, one floor up, slam shut. Immediately, the shrieks of Mrs Black started up, along with the complaints of neighbouring portraits. Immediately, Remus and Neville sprung to their feet and ran up the stairs to quiet the banshee down.


	16. A Little Knowledge

They waited for Remus and Neville to return, nobody entirely comfortable with meeting anyone else's eyes.

No one wanted to upset Molly, but at the same time, keeping information from kids as stubborn as this was just asking for trouble. It wasn't particularly fair, either. They were old enough to know – and most of them had been through enough inside and outside of Hogwarts that they had earned the right.

Still, an awkward silence pervaded the kitchen until everyone was once again sitting at the table.

"Okay, Harry… what do you want to know?"

Harry took a deep breath and asked the question he'd obviously been desperate to ask since he'd left Hogwarts. "Where's Voldemort?" he asked, ignoring the renewed shudders and winces at the name. "What's he doing? I've been watching the muggle news, and there hasn't been anything that looks like him yet, no funny deaths or anything."

"That's because there haven't been any funny deaths yet," said Sirius. "Not as far as we know, anyway… and we know quite a lot."

"More than he thinks we do, anyway," said Remus.

"How come he's stopped killing people?" Harry asked.

"Because he doesn't want to draw attention to himself," Sirius explained. "It would be dangerous for him. His comeback didn't come off quite the way he wanted it to, you see. He messed it up."

"Or rather, you messed it up for him," Remus amended, with a satisfied smile.

"How?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Because you were supposed to die," said Severus, bluntly. "Your survival has forced him to reconsider his options."

"When you and the other champions found Barty Crouch in the Forbidden Forest and his son was compelled to murder him right under our noses, their plans collapsed," Amelia added. "He was supposed to abduct you so they could use your blood to resurrect Voldemort more powerfully than before."

"I think he thought it would break your apparent immunity to him," Kingsley put in. "Instead, this pair of reprobates took his agent out." He nodded genially at Remus and Amelia.

"Yeah, and nearly got killed in the process," Hermione – who was still a little bitter – scoffed.

"So they had to improvise," Sirius went on. "Wormtail –" he scowled and a particularly ugly look crossed his face "– resurrected him on his own."

"Which means he's a little weaker than he was intending to be, and far more visible, once the Ministry made such a mess of raiding The Riddle House," said Kingsley.

"And he's not very happy about it," said Remus.

Severus grunted. "That's an understatement," he said, as they turned to him. "But he's also not stupid. He won't make a move until he can be absolutely certain opposition will be at its lowest – and that Dumbledore won't be involved."

"What difference will that make?" Ron asked.

"Are you kidding?" Bill said incredulously. "Dumbledore was the only one You-Know-Who was ever scared of!"

"And thanks to interrogating Barty Crouch Jr, Dumbledore was able to recall the Order of the Phoenix only a few days after Voldemort returned," said Sirius.

"So, what's the Order been doing?" Hermione asked, and all the kids' expressions turned more intense; this was what they had been dying to find out.

"Working as hard as we can to make sure Voldemort can't carry out his plans," said Tonks.

"How d'you know what his plans are?" Neville asked quickly, before they could be shut down.

"A combination of guesswork, spying, and what he did the last time," Amelia explained, resisting the urge to glance at Severus.

"And Dumbledore's got a shrewd idea," said Remus. "And Dumbledore's shrewd ideas normally turn out to be accurate."

"So, what does Dumbledore reckon he's planning?" Harry asked.

"Well, firstly, he wants to build up his army again," said Sirius. "In the old days he had huge numbers at his command. Witches and wizards he'd bullied or bewitched into following him, his faithful Death Eaters, a great variety of dark creatures – giants, goblins, werewolves. He's certainly not going to try and take on the Ministry of Magic with only a handful of Death Eaters."

"So, you're trying to stop him getting more followers?" Fred asked.

"We're doing our best," Remus replied.

Ginny turned to him. "How?"

"Well, the main thing is to try to convince as many people as possible that You-Know-who really has returned, to put them on their guard," said Bill. "It's proving tricky, though."

"Why?"

"Because of the Ministry's attitude," said Tonks. "Fudge messed up the raid last year, and he simply won't believe that Barty Crouch Jr is telling the truth – even under Veritaserum, or that the Riddle tomb was broken open in order to raise You-Know-Who. And he particularly refuses to believe that Voldemort's back. It's infuriating."

"But why?" Harry asked, exasperated. "Why's he being so stupid? If Dumbledore –"

"Ah, well, you've put your finger on the problem," said Arthur, with a wry smile. "Fudge thinks Dumbledore's plotting to overthrow him. He thinks Dumbledore wants to be Minister for Magic."

"But Dumbledore doesn't want –"

"Of course he doesn't," said Arthur. "He's never wanted the Minister's job, even though a lot of people wanted him to take it when Millicent Bagnold retired. Fudge came to power instead, but he's never quite forgiven how much popular support Dumbledore had, even though he never applied for the position."

"Basically, he's lost it," said Amelia, taking a sip of her wine.

"Deep down, Fudge knows Dumbledore is much cleverer than he is, a much more powerful wizard, and in the early days of his Ministry he was forever asking Dumbledore for help and advice," Remus explained. "But it seems he's become fond of power, and much more confident. He loves being Minister for Magic and he's managed to convince himself that he's the clever one and Dumbledore's simply stirring up trouble for the sake of it."

"How can he think that?" Harry asked angrily. "How can he think Dumbledore would just make it all up – that anyone would?"

"Because accepting that Voldemort's back would mean trouble like the Ministry hasn't had to cope with for nearly fourteen years," said Sirius bitterly. "Fudge just can't bring himself to face it. It's so much more comfortable to convince himself Dumbledore's lying to destabilise him."

"You see the problem," said Remus. "While the Ministry insists there is nothing to fear from Voldemort it's hard to convince people he's back, especially as they don't want to believe it in the first place."

Amelia nodded glumly. "They're afraid. It's like a nightmare has come back to life and people would much rather stick their fingers in their ears and carry on as usual."

"What's more, the Ministry's leaning very hard on the _Daily Prophet_ not to report any of what they're calling Dumbledore's rumour-mongering, so most of the wizarding community are completely unaware anything's happened – and that makes them easy targets for the Death Eaters if they're using the Imperius curse."

Kingsley nodded. "Add in the fact that no one's allowed to publish anything about Barty Crouch Jr until it goes to trial –"

"If it goes to trial," Tonks mused.

"And you've got the perfect environment for an underground movement to gain momentum," he finished.

"But you're telling people," said George, looking around at all the adults. "Aren't you, Dad?"

All the adults smiled humourlessly.

"Well, we're doing our best," said Sirius. "People still aren't entirely comfortable around me, even after my conviction was overturned."

"Not that you can call it a conviction, given that you never had a trial," Amelia grumbled, but they all ignored her – her opinions on Wizarding justice were well known.

"And while very few people know I'm a werewolf, I'd like to keep it that way just at the moment," said Remus. "And if I go around shouting about it, people will start paying attention to me."

"And if people did find out, it might discredit your opinion – no offence, Remus."

"None taken, Nymphadora."

Amelia smiled as Tonks glared at her husband.

"Stop calling me that!"

"The rest of us would lose our jobs at the Ministry if we starting trying to get people to listen," said Arthur sadly.

Sirius sighed. "And it's very important for us to have spies inside the Ministry, because you can bet Voldemort will have them."

"We've managed to convince a couple of people, though," said Arthur. "Tonks here, for one – she's too young to have been in the Order of the Phoenix last time, and having Aurors on our side is a huge advantage – Kingsley's been a real asset too."

Kingsley inclined his head in acknowledgment, while a faint blush appeared on Tonks' face.

"So, the reason Dumbledore's in so much trouble with the press is because he's telling everyone You… Voldemort's back?" Neville asked.

"Yes," said Amelia, simply.

"That's ridiculous," Hermione said, and Remus nodded.

"They're trying to discredit him," he said. "Didn't you see the _Daily Prophet_ last week? They reported that he'd been voted out of the Chairmanship of the International Confederation of Wizards because he's getting old and losing his grip, but it's not true; he was voted out by Ministry wizards after he made a speech announcing Voldemort's return. They've demoted him from Chief Warlock on the Wzengamot and they're talking about taking away his Order of Merlin, First Class."

"It's so damn petty," Amelia said. "As if the second someone says something the establishment doesn't like they try to erase all the things they've done that helped people."

"Way of the world," said Kingsley, sadly.

"I know," said Amelia. "Pisses me off."

"Dumbledore says he doesn't care what they do as long as they don't take him off the Chocolate Frog Cards," said Bill, grinning.

"It's no laughing matter," said Arthur sharply. "If he carries on defying the Ministry like this he could end up in Azkaban."

"What the hell for?" Hermione asked, shocked.

Several heads turned to her, surprised at the vehemence in her voice.

"Spreading sedition," Sirius explained, and then he grinned too. "You know, you're sounding more and more like your cousin every day."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It's a curse," she replied, but to Amelia's delight she looked a little flattered. "I thought you could only be convicted of spreading sedition in a time of war."

"In the muggle courts, yes," said Amelia. "Apparently it's different here."

"It should be that way for us, too," said Remus, sadly. "But the legislation never got repealed, and now…"

"The last thing we want is to have Dumbledore locked up," said Arthur, rubbing his face in frustration. "While You-Know-Who knows Dumbeldore's out there and wise to what he's up to he's going to go cautiously. If Dumbledore's out of the picture – well."

There was silence for a moment as they digested the image that conjured.

"But if Voldemort's trying to recruit more Death Eaters it's bound to get out that he's come back, isn't it?" Harry asked, sounding rather desperate.

"He doesn't just march up to people's houses and bang on their front doors, Harry," said Sirius. "He tricks, jinxes, and blackmails them. He's well-practised at operating in secret. In any case, gathering followers is only one thing he's interested in. He's got other plans too, plans he can put into operation very quietly indeed, and he's concentrating on those for the moment."

"What's he after apart from followers?" Ron asked swiftly.

Remus and Sirius exchanged a fleeting look which Amelia thought most of the kids had missed.

"Stuff he can only get by stealth."

Amelia nodded. Harry didn't need to know about the prophecy; just knowing that it existed was unsettling enough, and she knew absolutely that if she was told there was a prophecy about her she would stop at nothing to find out about it. This was the one thing she was prepared to keep from him and the others, because the idea of the five of them breaking into the Ministry of Magic sent chills down her spine.

"Like a weapon," said Sirius. "Something he didn't have before."

"It's not a weapon," said Amelia, rolling her eyes.

"It could be used as one," said Sirius.

"Like Avada Kedavra?" Harry asked, watching the interchange with interest.

"No – and no it couldn't, Sirius," said Amelia flatly. "It's not a weapon. It's… information. And information we are not privy to," she added, on the kids' attentive expressions.

"So it's being protected?" Ginny asked, thoughtfully.

"Yes," said Arthur. "That's –"

"That's enough."

Molly spoke from the shadows beside the door. Amelia hadn't noticed her return. Her arms were crossed and she looked furious.

"I want all of you to go home and straight to bed, now," she said, looking at the kids. "All of you. We're leaving."

"You can't boss us –" Fred began.

"Watch me," snarled Molly. She was trembling slightly as she looked at Sirius; when no one moved she went on, "You've given Harry plenty of information. Any more and you might as well induct him into the Order straightaway.

"Why not?" said Harry quickly, and Amelia's heart sank. "I'll join, I want to join – I want to fight."

"Me too," said Hermione at once.

"And me," said Ron.

"Yes!" said Neville.

"All of us do," Ginny said, before her older brothers could chime in.

Amelia grimaced. Even though she had been expecting it, it was still horrible to hear the eagerness in their voices. War might be coming, but if they could protect these kids for just a little bit longer, then they would.

"No."

It was not Molly who had spoken, but Remus.

"The Order is comprised only of overage wizards," he said. "Wizards who have left school," he added, as Fred and George opened their mouths. "There are dangers involved of which you can have no idea."

"Dangerous we don't want you to face," said Sirius heavily, taking an unspoken cue from Remus and nodding at Molly. "We should head home. Don't want to spend too long here if I can help it."

He got to his feet wearing a grin that didn't quite meet his eyes, and the kids exchanged looks of resignation. Amelia and Remus hung back with the others as Molly bossed her brood out of the kitchen and upstairs to the coat rack, refusing to even look at Arthur, or any of the others, sweeping the other kids along with her as she went.

"Well, that could have gone better," said Kingsley, once they were out of earshot.

"Do you think we did the right thing?" Severus asked quietly. "Telling them, I mean."

"Yes," said Tonks, at exactly the same time as Amelia; they smiled at one another.

"They need to know some of it – and the rest they'll only find out anyway," said Amelia.

"And if they're anything like I was when I was their age, they'd have found a way," said Tonks.

Sirius laughed, but there was a note of sadness there. "I remember some of your teenage years," he said, smiling. "Your Mum used to say she had no idea how I'd rubbed off on you."

Tonks gave him a lopsided grin. "Yeah, it's definitely your fault."


	17. Pinks and Blues

Hermione lay on her back in the grass, watching the candyfloss clouds roll languidly overhead.

It was another hot, perfect summer's day, and by rights, she and her friends should have been out and about, enjoying the weather and avoiding thoughts of the impeding term. Instead, she and Harry were lying on their backs in her cousin's garden, Not Talking about the fact that there was a war, they weren't old enough to fight (in their guardians' eyes), or that Molly Weasley was now refusing to let Ron, Ginny or the twins come to Pear Tree Farm because of 'irresponsible influences'.

She sighed.

As much as she loved and respected Molly, particularly given how welcoming she had always been, she couldn't help but feel frustrated. Especially when it came to the way she was behaving towards Mel and Sirius in the days since the meeting. It wasn't something they'd seen first-hand, of course, but it was coming through in the letter Ron and Ginny had angrily sent the day before, declaring that they were banned from the farm for the foreseeable future, and the rather stiff way Remus had acted when he'd returned from dropping something off for Arthur.

Hopefully, this would pass and they'd soon all be back to normal, but right now, Hermione would have been much happier without it. With Neville on holiday with his Gran and Amelia and Remus at a meeting up at Hogwarts, she and Harry were running out of things to occupy themselves with.

And Harry wasn't particularly good at that at the moment, anyway. He was too focussed on the war; to intent on it to enjoy the time they had left before it caught up with them. With the tribunal coming up as well, he was particularly moody, and it was bugging the hell out of her. Normally, Hermione would have tried to shake him out of it by producing homework, or a game, or a film, but today she just didn't have the energy.

Even though it had only been just over a week, she missed her friends.

They couldn't even distract themselves with helping out Aunt Bea, who was out with some old friends. Sirius had been holed up in the library for about three days, poring over ancient and crumbly texts that had something to do with alchemists and vampires, and was subsequently in a particularly foul mood. Everyone else was avoiding him.

"Hermione?" Harry asked, breaking her out of her thoughts.

"Yes?" She waited for a few moments, but he didn't continue.

"Nothing," he said, falling silent once more.

Guessing he was thinking about the tribunal, Hermione sat up. "I'm going swimming," she announced. "It's too hot to be moping around back here, and those two miscreants won't be back for hours."

She looked at her friend, who was glaring up at the clouds as if they had done him a personal injury. "Coming?"

"No."

Hermione sighed and got to her feet. "Suit yourself."

She wasn't about to start babysitting him. It wasn't like they didn't all get that this summer was particularly hard for him, but Hermione couldn't help but think it was pretty hard for her, too. She, too, had lost her parents; she, too, was facing a war. They all were.

Okay, he had the tribunal dragging him down, as well, but they'd faced worse before, and doubtless they would again.

Huffing, she stalked through past the lavender bushes, alive with bees in the hot afternoon. As much as she loved her friend, she couldn't help but think he was being a bit stereotypically _teenage_ about the whole thing.

Surprised at the bitterness she felt, she hurried up the steps and into her room to change, dislodging a couple of finches from the windowsill as she opened it. Although the downstairs of the old barn conversion was cool, upstairs could get unbearably stuffy at the height of summer.

She could still see Harry sulking when she left and went down to the pool.

"Ah," she said, stepping into the cooler-than-the-air water in relief.

Submerging up to her chin, she glanced back towards the garden, wondering if she was being unfair.

 _Well, if I am, I'm a teenager too. I also have the right to sulk and refuse to tidy my room._

She snorted, imagining Beatrice and Amelia's faces if she said that out loud.

Sometimes, you just didn't get the luxury of taking things out on other people.

0o0

After half an hour's swimming she felt decidedly friendlier towards the world; it was good to do something physical and repetitive for a change, where you didn't have to think. One of the problems with being the 'brainiac' everyone thought she was, was being able to quiet her mind and give herself a break. So far, swimming (which wasn't really an option at Hogwarts) and word or logic puzzles (which was, until she ran out) were the only things she had found that helped.

She came to the end of a length and stopped; she had the distinct feeling she was being watched.

"Your decision making is inspired today, Granger."

 _Ah._

"Oh, hi Sirius," she said, finding him standing by the pool, his arms crossed. "Get bored of reading about – what was it again?"

He smirked. "Nice try. Not particularly subtle, but…" he grinned, and Hermione shrugged. They both knew she and her friends would never stop trying to find out what was going on, and they both knew he didn't really mind. "And yes, I can think of a million things I would rather be doing on a day like this than sitting inside with a pile of dusty old tomes. I got bored and filched some of Amelia's homemade lemonade," he told her, jabbing his thumb towards a jug and several glasses on the table in the shade. "Where's Harry?"

"In the garden," she said, and some of the annoyance that she felt at his behaviour must have been present in her voice, because Sirius frowned.

"He okay?" he asked, immediately concerned.

"Yeah, just sulking again." She sighed. "I know he's having a rubbish time of it and all, but I'm just sick of hanging out with someone determined to make everything seem awful."

She had expected Sirius to stick up for his godson, but to her surprise he barked a laugh. "Yeah, I remember being your age. I made everyone miserable. Let him sulk – he'll come out of it in a while and then wonder why everyone else is just getting on with it."

Hermione laughed, imagining a teenage Sirius Black, sulking in the dorm while James and Remus enjoyed a rare quiet night in the common room.

"Mind if I join you?" Sirius asked, eyeing the pool and looking slightly awkward.

"Of course not," said Hermione, who had been half expecting him to jump in at any moment, clothes and all.

"Cheers. Thought I'd check," he said, on her perplexed look. "Don't want to be the creepy godfather."

Hermione laughed. "I'm pretty sure that you're not," she said, getting out for a drink. "Besides, you and I both know I'd hex you into next week if you tried anything."

 _And that's nothing compared to what my cousin and aunt would do – let alone Harry and Remus._

"You'd be expelled," he pointed out, amused.

"It would be worth it."

Sirius grinned. "You know, somewhere in that rule-abiding mind is a woman after my own heart."

She wasn't sure if she should be flattered or offended by that assessment, and said so. He simply laughed. Hermione shook her head at him as he went off to change, and sat on one of the slightly erratic deckchairs Bea kept by the pool, pulling out her puzzle book.

0o0

Harry rounded the corner of the building, his hands stuffed deeply into the pockets of his shorts. Hermione had been gone for quite some time, and after a while he'd grown sick of inaction. As grateful as he was for Remus and Amelia taking him in without a second thought (and he would forever be in the debt of anyone that kept him away from the Dursleys), he couldn't help feeling trapped at Pear Tree Farm.

Since Molly Weasley had decided that they were bad influences (though he doubted she'd actually said that out loud), most of his communication with the outside Wizarding World had been cut off. He still stole Hermione's copy of the _Daily Prophet_ every morning and chewed over its contents with Remus and Sirius, but the majority of it these days was Ministry propaganda, and as a vocal supporter of Dumbledore, they were none too fond of him.

Reading and scoffing at that level of pernicious fabrication was pretty exhausting – and reading the letters to editor was worse. Just like Rita Skeeter's malicious slander from the previous school year, the articles were eliciting some particularly vicious responses from the general Wizarding public – though thankfully none of them had written directly to him this time.

Thankfully, Rita Skeeter, as per her arrangement with Hermione, had been unusually silent. It was one small mercy, at least.

He sighed.

He was pretty sure Hermione was annoyed with him, though he had no idea why. He kicked at a stone that had escaped the flowerbed. Hearing his godfather's distinctive laugh, he followed it to the back of the old barn and stopped, astonished.

Sirius and Hermione were in the pool, throwing a ball at each other, both laughing their heads off. Harry stared at them, feeling strangely angry that they were out here having fun while he was so miserable, until Hermione successfully managed to aim the ball so it landed in the pool a foot in front of Sirius and splashed him in the face.

Harry cracked a smile as his godfather came up spluttering.

"Sorry," Hermione said, though it didn't sound much like she meant it.

"You will be," said Sirius, with an evil grin. "I can do magic, you can't."

"I'll put Fred and George's patented itching powder in your socks."

"A goody-two-shoes like you? For shame!"

"I'll claim self-defence."

Harry snorted and they both looked up, surprised.

"Hey," said Sirius. "Feeling less grumpy?"

Harry glared at him for a moment, but his heart wasn't really in it. "I – er..." he met Hermione's eyes, and saw only concern and resignation there. "I've been being a total arse, haven't I?"

She laughed. "Yes."

"Sorry, I'm just –" He shrugged. "I don't know."

"It's alright Harry," said Sirius, unusually seriously. "We get it."

He gave his godfather a half-smile and then looked back at his best friend. "You aren't even going to tell me off for swearing?" he asked.

"Not if you don't tell Ron," she said, pretending to give it a moment's thought. She _was_ Amelia Lupin's cousin, after all. "Coming in?"

"I don't know," he said, still feeling a bit down. "Maybe I'll just sit and watch."

"Oh, right," said Sirius, and looked at Hermione, who looked mildly disappointed. "Still sulking."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, and immediately wished he hadn't, as Sirius sent a wave of water crashing over him. When he'd stopped coughing, Harry glared at the man.

"Oh, look at that," said Sirius innocently. "You're all wet now. Might as well join us."

Unable to think of a suitable response, Harry looked to Hermione for support, sure she would start berating his mischievous godfather for being insufferable, but instead she had a hand tightly over her mouth, obviously struggling not to laugh.

He was about to yell at her, but something about the sight of his friend looking so happy, ignoring all the awful things that were coming their way, changed his mind.

He sighed. "I'll get my trunks."

Walking into the house, he heard Hermione turn to Sirius.

"You were evil in school, weren't you?"

"You say that like it's a bad thing!"

0o0

By the time Remus and Amelia got back, all three of them were lounging around the living room of Lupin Cottage, sunburned and exhausted from an afternoon well-spent. None of the games Sirius had invented seemed to have any rules, and mostly seemed to consist of throwing a ball at one another and trying to avoid ending up being dunked under the water. They'd been ravenous when they'd got out of the pool, and Harry had put frozen pizzas in the oven while they'd changed.

Now, stuffed with pizza and tired, Sirius was snoring lightly in the armchair in the corner, entirely ignoring the muggle TV ghost hunting show Hermione had chosen (she'd said that Harry and Sirius ought to have some idea of the muggle view of hauntings).

She, too, was nearly asleep, only just propping herself up on her elbow as she lay on the living room floor, one hand still steadying a bottle of cola.

Harry was dozing on the sofa, for once totally oblivious to all the horror in the world, vaguely aware that the bowl of popcorn on his stomach was creeping slowly towards the ground.

Thus, when the back door slammed, all three of them shot to their feet, spraying popcorn everywhere.

"What –" he began, adrenaline rushing through him, but Sirius signalled for him to be quiet.

The older wizard had his wand out and was already halfway to the door, shielding Harry and Hermione, who were still essentially picking themselves up.

Harry's hand went to his wand, which he'd thoughtlessly left on the coffee table. Were they under attack? Was this another Dementor?

He found Hermione right beside him, her wand held tightly in her hand, straining to hear.

"Fucking hell!" Sirius cried, shocked. "Merlin's bollocks, Moony, you scared the shit out of us."

"Sorry," said Remus, though he didn't entirely sound it as he came into view, a deep scowl on his face.

Harry watched his godfather give his friend a once over and backtrack a little.

"How was the meeting?" Sirius asked, slowly.

"Bloody horrible," said Amelia's voice, from the kitchen.

Remus nodded. Harry frowned. Although he'd overheard their grumbling about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, Harry's mind had been too caught up with Voldemort and the nonsense the Ministry were spreading to pay much attention.

"I don't see why you can't just teach all of Defence Against the Dark Arts," he said, and Hermione agreed.

"Yes. You're the best one we've ever had."

Some of the tension left Remus's face. "I'm flattered."

"You're the only one that hasn't actually tried to kill us," said Harry, amused. He saw the cloud cross Remus' face, obviously thinking about the night they'd all forgotten they were abroad with a werewolf on full moon. But that hadn't been his fault, so he wasn't going to give the man chance to dwell on it. "Except in the amount of homework you set."

"That will only get worse," said Amelia, pressing a glass of lemonade into her husband's hand and plumping down on the sofa with the air of someone who would rather forget the day they'd had. "The further you get through school, the more homework you get. Sad fact of life."

"Don't say that," Harry groaned.

Remus chuckled. "Wait until you're a teacher, and then see how much homework _we_ get."

Hermione had been assessing her cousin's expression; Sirius appeared to have been doing the same with Remus.

"How bad is it?" she asked, sitting down.

Amelia appeared to think about it. "On the face of it, we've got a Ministry plant keeping an eye on us and attempting to use her curriculum to batter the lie that Voldemort isn't back into everyone in the school. I suspect, the longer she's with us, though, the more sinister that presence is going to get."

Nodding, Remus sat heavily beside his wife. "Meanwhile, Dumbledore has made it clear that I am to continue teaching 'what I see fit' in my portion of the classes. She's obviously not very happy about that."

"Bitch," said Amelia, looking uncharacteristically venomous. "I think she'll try anything she can to stop you."

"But we have to learn Defence!" Harry blurted out. "I mean, even if Voldemort wasn't back and recruiting an army, you can't go through life pretending you'll always be safe! What about – what about boggarts, or hinkypunks – or just ordinary murderers?"

"You're preaching to the converted," said Remus, a faint smile of amusement overlaying lines of worry and anger that seemed to have taken up residence there in only a few hours. "But the Ministry says none of those things exist – that's the line they're going with, and it's Umbridge's job to enforce it."

"By teaching people to be stupid?" Hermione asked, sharply.

"Not stupid," said Remus. "Just… unconcerned. Not willing to notice bad things. Not asking questions."

"But that's worse! That's like trying to brainwash people!"

The teachers nodded, looking sorrowful.

"And all the while she'll be undermining Dumbledore," said Amelia, rubbing her face. "You know, just once, I'd like to do my job, teach my students, get my marking done and go home at the end of the day without worrying that one of my kids won't hand their homework in because they've been eaten, set fire to, blown up, murdered by undead psychopaths, or brainwashed by the state."

There was a short silence.

"He won't let her get away with it," said Harry, though he didn't sound convinced, even to himself.

"He doesn't have a choice," said Remus, heavily. "The Ministry is afraid of the power he wields in Hogwarts. He has the opportunity to prevent kids from mindlessly following what they read in the newspaper – and through them, they can begin to influence their parents. They won't let him stay if he refuses Umbridge access."

"But Hogwarts is a private school," Hermione reasoned. She had a look on her face that Harry had seen countless times before: she was trying to find a solution to a ridiculous problem. "The state shouldn't get any say in what it teaches!"

"In the muggle world, the state controls what subjects are covered," Amelia pointed out. "It can be good and bad. Good, because it limits the potential to brainwash kids into things – in exactly the way Umbridge is trying to do – and theoretically helps people prepare for adult life. Bad because it has a monumentally narrow vision of what adult life ought to be."

"Yes, but this isn't the muggle world," Hermione argued. "Dumbledore has presided over a school that teaches people the stuff they need to know about the world – and stuff you need to know to have a good career – for decades! He's obviously not trying to brainwash anyone!"

"Just because you and I recognise insanity when we see it, Grasshopper, does not mean everyone else does," said Amelia, with a sigh. "The Ministry has convinced itself that Dumbledore is a dangerous incompetent, and they're going to try to prove it at any cost."

"That's ridiculous!" Harry protested, but Amelia merely shrugged.

"No argument."

"But our O.W.L.s are this year!" Hermione cried, horrified.

Harry rolled his eyes.

"Priorities, Hermione," he reminded her. "It's not going to matter if we get good marks in our O.W.L.s if Death Eaters murder us in our sleep."

"That doesn't mean we shouldn't plan for our future!"

Harry shook his head. Hermione could be remarkably single-minded when she wanted to be.

Remus, who had been slowly turning his glass of lemonade around in his hands, obviously feeling quite morose, gave a heavy sigh. "It's only going to be a matter of time before that harpy finds out what I am," he said quietly. "And then I'll be out of Hogwarts for good."

Harry stared at him, shocked. "Surely Dumbledore wouldn't fire you!"

"Dumbledore is risking a hell of a lot employing me in the first place."

"Yes, but –"

"Drop it, Harry."

Harry turned to look at Sirius, surprised. Couldn't he see that his old friend needed to hear how little anyone cared that he was living under a curse? The older man shook his head.

"Umbridge would make sure he wouldn't have a choice," said Sirius, darkly.

"And then everyone will know," Remus mumbled.

Harry met Hermione's eyes, unsettled. He'd never seen him like this, looking so lost and vulnerable. Remus Lupin was one of the strongest and bravest men he'd ever met, it was distinctly unpleasant to see him so low – and so obviously afraid.

"Well then," said Amelia, lightly. "They'll have me to deal with." She put an arm around her husband. "And, from the sounds of it, Harry, too."

He nodded emphatically. "Absolutely."

But Remus simply shook his head and made his excuses, heading off into another part of the house. After a moment, Amelia drained her glass of lemonade and got to her feet.

"Right, well, someone better go knock some sense into him," she announced, and gave a strange laugh, like she'd much rather be knocking some sense into this Umbridge person instead.

"Is he going to be alright?" Hermione asked in a low voice, once her cousin had gone.

Sirius nodded, looking tired. "He will be. He's just…" He shook his head. "A couple of years ago, a woman named Dolores Umbridge drafted legislation that basically makes it impossible for Remus to find work. Employers are legally allowed to refuse employment, terminate employment, cut pay, whatever, to anyone the legislation deems a 'second-class citizen'," he told them, the hint of a growl in his voice. "Werewolves are at the top of that list."

"That's awful!" Hermione gasped.

"Second-class citizens?" Harry asked, feeling sick. "But they're people!"

Sirius nodded. "You don't have to tell me, but not everyone in the Wizarding World thinks that way. It's just a fancy way of saying 'subhuman'."

Harry opened his mouth, about to argue that surely no one could be that small-minded, but he shut it again, remembering the horror that had crossed Ron's face when he'd found out about Remus's condition. And Ron was pretty open-minded, particularly compared to some of their classmates.

He paled, wondering what Malfoy and his cronies would make of it.

 _No, maybe not Malfoy,_ he thought, remembering how his schoolyard enemy had apologised to Hagrid – after he'd hurt him a great deal, of course, but the fact that he's apologised without anyone's prompting was a bit like hearing that Voldemort had started handing out cookies.

"If it's the same woman, then she won't hesitate to publically humiliate him," said Sirius, sadly. He ran a hand through his hair. "The sooner we get out of this stupid bloody war, the better. I need to get back to my reading."

They watched him go, thoughtfully. Harry started picking up the popcorn that had scattered across the floor.

"I'm going to get the highest O.W.L. scores I can," said Hermione, after a moment. "No matter what it takes. And then when I'm old enough I'm going to join the Ministry and revoke every single piece of legislation that describes _anyone_ as less than a person."

Harry nodded, his eyes still on the door, glad that he had such a fierce, determined person for a friend. "I'll help. Even if it means passing Divination."


	18. Islington Ghouls

Harry sighed, following Ron into the drawing room with an air of resignation.

It was another hot, sunny day – and instead of relaxing at Lupin Cottage, he and his friends had once again been pressed into cleaning Grimmauld Place, a task made more arduous by the fact that Kreacher kept messing things up when they were out of the house, and trying to steal back what he considered priceless family heirlooms, which everyone else thought of as dangerous junk.

Still, at least it meant he could hang out with the Weasleys again – though Mrs Weasley had been careful not to let her children linger too long in the presence of the Professors Lupin or Sirius. They were blithely ignoring her slightly sniffy behaviour, opting to practice duelling in one of the rooms across the hall instead of joining the cleaning party, but Harry felt a little insulted on their behalf.

The drawing room was a long, high-ceilinged room on the first floor with olive green walls covered in dirty tapestries. The carpet exhaled little clouds of dust every time someone put their foot on it and the long, moss green velvet curtains were buzzing as though swarming with invisible bees. It was around these that Molly Weasley directed them, handing them all cloths to tie over their noses and mouths.

"Cover your faces and take a spray," she instructed, pointing to several bottles of thick black liquid standing on a spindle-legged table. "It's Doxycide. I've never seen an infestation this bad. I don't know what that house-elf's been up to all these years –"

Hermione's face was concealed behind a tea towel, but even so Harry was reasonably sure that the look she shot at Mrs Weasley was reproachful.

"Kreacher's really old," she said. "He probably couldn't manage –"

"You'd be surprised what Kreacher can manage when he wants to, Hermione," said Sirius, who had just entered the room carrying a box of dusty lace curtains. "I'm going to chuck these unless you want them, Molly. I'll leave them on the kitchen table. Anyway… this writing desk…"

He dropped the box onto an armchair, then bent to examine the locked cabinet which, Harry now noticed for the first time, was shaking slightly.

"Well, Molly, I'm pretty sure this is a boggart," said Sirius, peering through the keyhole, "but perhaps we ought to let Remus or Mad-Eye have a shufty at it before we let it out – knowing my mother, it could be something much worse."

"Right you are, Sirius," said Mrs Weasley.

They were both speaking in carefully light, polite voices that told Harry quite plainly that neither had forgotten their disagreement.

A loud, clanging bell sounded from downstairs, followed at once by the cacophony of screams and wails that heralded Sirius's mother waking up.

"I keep telling them not to ring the doorbell!" said Sirius, exasperated. He grabbed the box of curtains and hurried out of the room. They heard him thundering down the stairs as Mrs Black's screeches echoed up through the house once more:

" _Stains of dishonour, filthy half-breeds, blood traitors, children of filth…"_

"Close the door, please, Harry," said Mrs Weasley.

Harry took as much time as he dared to close the drawing-room door; despite all the things the adults had told them the week before, it wasn't enough – and they were perfectly well aware that a lot was still being kept back. It had left Harry desperate to know more, and he wanted to listen to what was going on downstairs. Sirius had obviously managed to shut the curtains over his mother's portrait because she had stopped screaming. He heard Sirius walking down the hall, then the clattering of the chain on the front door, and then a deep voice he recognised as Kingsley Shacklebolt's saying, "Hestia's just relieved me, so she's got Moody's cloak now, thought I'd leave a report for Dumbledore."

Feeling Mrs Weasley's eyes on the back of his head, Harry regretfully closed the drawing-room door and rejoined the Doxy party.

He rolled his eyes. Mrs Weasley was bending over to check the page on Doxys in _Gilderoy Lockhart's Guide to Household Pests,_ which was lying open on the sofa. Harry wondered if he could get away with accidentally spraying it with Doxycide.

"Right, you lot, you need to be careful, because Doxys bite and their teeth are poisonous. I've got a bottle of antidote here, but I'd rather nobody needed it."

She straightened up, positioned herself squarely in front of the curtains and beckoned them all forward.

"When I say the word, start spraying immediately," she said. "They'll come flying out at us, I expect, but it says on the sprays one good squirt will paralyse them. When they're immobilised, just throw them in this bucket."

She stepped carefully out of their line of fire, and raised her own spray.

"All right, _squirt!_ "

Harry had been spraying for only a few seconds when a fully-grown Doxy came soaring out of a fold in the material, shiny beetle-like wings whirring, tiny needle-sharp teeth bared, its fairy-like body covered with thick black hair and its four tiny fists clenched with fury. Harry caught it full in the face with a blast of Doxycide. It froze in midair and fell, with a surprisingly loud _thunk_ , onto the worn carpet below. Harry picked it up and threw it in the bucket.

"Fred, what are you doing?" said Mrs Weasley sharply. "Spray that at once and throw it away!"

Harry looked round. Fred was holding a struggling Doxy between his forefinger and thumb.

"Right-o," Fred said brightly, spraying the Doxy quickly in the face so it fainted, but the moment Mrs Weasley's back was turned he pocketed it with a wink.

"We want to experiment with Doxy venom for our Skiving Snackboxes," George told Harry under his breath.

Deftly spraying two Doxys at once as they soared straight for his nose, Harry moved closer to George and muttered out of the corner of his mouth, "What are Skiving Snackboxes?"

"Range of sweets to make you ill," George whispered, keeping a wary eye on Mrs Weasley's back. "Not seriously ill, mind, just ill enough to get you out of a class when you feel like it. Fred and I have been developing them this summer. They're double-ended, colour-coded chews. If you eat the orange half of the Puking Pastilles, you throw up. Moment you've been rushed out of the lesson in the direction of the hospital wing, you swallow the purple half –"

"Which restores you to full fitness, enabling you to pursue theleisure activity of your own choice during an hour that would otherwise have been devoted to unprofitable boredom. That's what we're putting in the adverts, anyway," whispered Fred, who had edged over out of Mrs Weasley's line of vision and was now sweeping a few stray Doxys from the floor and adding them to his pocket. "But they still need a bit of work. At the moment our testers are having a bit of trouble stopping themselves puking long enough to swallow the purple end."

"Testers?"

"Us," said Fred. "We take it in turns. George did the Fainting Fancies – we both tried the Nosebleed Nougat –"

"Mum thought we'd been duelling," said George.

"Joke shop still on, then?" Harry muttered, pretending to adjust the nozzle on his spray.

"Well, we haven't had a chance to get premises yet," said Fred, dropping his voice even lower as Mrs Weasley mopped her brow with her scarf before returning to the attack, "so we're running as a mail-order service at the moment. We put advertisements in the _Daily Prophet_ last week."

"All thanks to you, mate," said George. "But don't worry, Mum hasn't got a clue. She won't read the _Daily Prophet_ any more, 'cause of it telling lies about you and Dumbledore."

Harry grinned. He had forced the Weasley twins to take his portion of the thousand galleon prize money he had won in the Triwizard Tournament to help them realise their ambition to open a joke shop; it wasn't much, but it was a start. He had no doubt that they'd make a good go of it, and he had a shrewd suspicion his godfather was helping finance the rest with the money the Ministry had given him as an embarrassed and paltry apology for confining him for twelve years for a crime he didn't commit. He was still glad to know that his part in furthering their plans was unknown to Mrs Weasley. She did not think running a joke shop was a suitable career for two of her sons.

0o0

The de-Doxying of the drawing room curtains took most of the morning, and Sirius, for one, was glad that he had not been a part of it. He'd been bitten by a Doxy before, and he didn't need to add more painful memories to those he already associated with this awful house. He'd spent much of the morning rotating between finding things to throw out, swapping in and out of duelling training with Tonks, Amelia and Remus, and removing a particularly nasty curse from a chest Molly had found in one of the old servants' bedrooms.

As much as he hated the loathsome place, it _was_ good to have other people in it, he decided. At first it had been nothing short of mortifying, having the people he considered his nearest and dearest in the dark place he had once fled, but now, with all the chaos a house full of eclectic wizardry brought, the building was beginning to become less malevolent.

It was amazing what the sound of laughter could do for a place. He suspected it would be a very long time indeed before he would every feel totally comfortable here, but it was a start. Even if cleaning was fast becoming the most boring activity on earth, second only to researching European alchemists or vampires.

Currently, though, distraction had presented itself in the form of Dung, who had arrived bearing a precariously balanced stack of quite obviously stolen cauldrons. He had been intercepted at the door by Kingsley Shacklebolt as Sirius wrestled with the curtains concealing his mother's portrait. Kingsley was, at heart, a diplomat, so he'd begun by gently pointing out that he was technically supposed to report crimes.

Dung had ignored that, announcing that it was simply his way of undermining the corrupt Ministry. Both Sirius and Kingsley had had a hard time not laughing at that.

"But you'll let me stash 'em here, won't you Sirius?" Dung asked, attempting to look guileless."

Sirius shook his head. "Sorry Dung, I have to agree with Kingsley on this one. I mean, I've never been one to entirely abide by the rules, but – and I hate to admit it – we've got a bunch of kids upstairs we're supposed to be setting an example for."

"But Sirius, I can't keep 'em at home – the Ministry will raid me, and then –"

"Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before you pinched them in the first place," Kingsley observed, amused.

"What do you want a load of dodgy cauldrons for, anyway?" Sirius asked, standing his ground.

"It's a brilliant business opportunity!" said Dung at once. "I can cut you in if you like, only –"

But Sirius never found out what his imaginary cut would be worth, because at that moment, Molly Weasley came thundering down the stairs from the landing above.

"WE ARE NOT RUNNING A HIDEOUT FOR STOLEN GOODS!" she yelled, making all three men jump.

"IT'S COMPLETELY IRRESPONSIBLE. AS IF WE HAVEN'T GOT ENOUGH TO WORRY ABOUT WITHOUT YOU DRAGGING STOLEN CAULDRONS INTO THE HOUSE –"

Dung stared at her, fish-like, as Molly powered into her stride. Sirius winced. It was all well and good shouting someone down – and Mundungus Fletcher probably needed a little help remembering what side of the law he ought to be on – but it would only be a matter of time before –

Sure enough, roused from her slumber, his mother's portrait burst into shrieks, setting off every single portrait in the hall until the noise became unbearable.

"I've had just about enough of this," Sirius muttered, under the ear-splitting din. "DUNG!" he yelled. "NO CAULDRONS. TAKE THEM HOME!"

He didn't appear to have heard, so Sirius huffed and left Molly and Dung still fighting, seeking refuge upstairs. He found the kids obviously eavesdropping from the drawing room, and looked up in time to see Amelia and Tonks's heads withdrawing from the landing above.

He returned his gaze to the kids, who were engaged in what might be called conversation (except that was difficult with someone so unpleasant) with Kreacher.

"What do you want, anyway?" George asked.

Kreacher's huge eyes darted towards George.

"Kreacher is cleaning," he said evasively.

"A likely story," said Sirius, shooting the house-elf a venomous look.

The cleaning crew turned, surprised, as Kreacher flung himself into a ridiculously low bow that flattened his snoutlike nose on the floor. It rankled with Sirius, whose enduring memories of the elf were his gleeful complicity in the torture his family had inflicted on him in his youth. Besides, he'd never been entirely comfortable with anyone picking up after him, even in Hogwarts, where the house-elves had been pleasant company.

"Stand up straight," he said impatiently. "Now, what are you up to?"

"Kreacher is cleaning," the elf repeated. "Kreacher lives to serve the Noble House of Black –"

"And it's getting blacker every day. It's filthy," said Sirius, mildly disgusted at the arrogance he heard in his own voice.

"Master always liked his little joke," said Kreacher, bowing again, and continuing in an undertone, "Master was a nasty ungrateful swine who broke his mother's heart."

"My mother didn't have a heart, Kreacher," he snapped. "She kept herself alive out of pure spite."

Kreacher bowed again as he spoke, as if that made everything acceptable. "Whatever Master says," he muttered furiously. "Master is not fit to wipe slime from his mother's boots, oh, my poor mistress, what would she say if she saw Kreacher serving him, how she hated him, what a disappointment he was –"

"Afternoon, Kreacher," said Amelia, appearing on the staircase above them. "You're a bundle of joy, as ever."

"The elder mudblood, wife to that filthy half-breed –" Kreacher began, but Amelia strode past him and poked Sirius in the rubs.

"Order him to go and grumble to himself in his rooms instead of trying to spy on everyone," she said – and added in an undertone. "And no kicking. He's an appalling little parasite, but that doesn't mean you have to lower yourself to his level."

Sirius, who had been contemplating doing just that, grimaced. "If you're not going to tell me what you're doing, you can go and mutter to yourself in your room," he said, gritting his teeth at the names the elf was calling everyone under their breath. "And stop stockpiling cursed things – you can have them back when they're no longer a danger to society."

"Whatever Master says," said Kreacher, looking as if he were chewing on a wasp. He started up the stairs, muttering poisonous things.

"Sirius, he's not right in the head," said Hermione, as he reached the top. "I don't think he realises we can hear him."

"Yes he does," said Amelia, before he could respond. "He's as batty as they come, but don't for one moment assume that just because he's a house-elf he's not a malicious little bastard."

Hermione glared at her cousin. "He's been alone for too long!"

"That doesn't excuse calling people half-breeds," said Amelia shortly. "Or being a dick – and you'd be agreeing with me if it was a human."

"No, I –"

Amelia gave her young cousin a look. "Oh no? And Sybil Trelawny's a wonderful teacher, Severus is always flawlessly sweet to his students and Draco Malfoy is a paragon of politeness. You're setting yourself a double standard, there, Grasshopper. Stop it."

She continued down the stairs, Hermione glared mutinously at her back.

Sirius, who didn't often hear that tone of voice from his friend, coughed awkwardly. "He _has_ been alone too long," he offered. "Taking mad orders from my mother's portrait and talking to himself." He paused, unable to alter the image of the house-elf in his mind. "But he was always a foul little –"

"If you could just set him free," said Hermione hopefully, "maybe –"

"We can't set him free, he knows too much about the Order," said Sirius curtly, though he had considered it. It turned out, much to his surprise, that he didn't quite actually hate him completely enough to hurt him that badly. "And anyway, the shock would kill him. You suggest to him that he leaves this house and see how he takes it."

Sirius walked into the drawing room, eyes on the tapestry Kreacher had most likely been trying to protect. He sighed, wishing that he could find a way to set fire to it without damaging the building. Damn his mother and her bloody sticking charms. Footsteps followed him, suggesting that Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys had followed him.

He was reasonably sure that Hermione was glowering at the back of his head.

The tapestry was immensely old, dating back several hundred years and added to until his mother had died. Doxys had gnawed upon it in places, to the extent that several of his ancestors were worn a little thin. One of his very distant aunts had lost an ear. He wasn't sure if it amused him or made him more depressed. Nevertheless, the golden thread with which it was embroidered still glinted brightly enough to show an immense family tree, going all the way back to the middle ages.

Large words at the very top of the tapestry read: _The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black. Toujours pur._

 _Always pure,_ Sirius thought, disgusted. He scowled at the words.

"You're not on here!" said Harry.

Sirius turned to find all the kids scouring the tapestry with great interest.

"I used to be there," he said, pointing to a small, round, charred hole in the tapestry, rather like a cigarette burn. "My sweet old mother blasted me off after I ran away from home. Kreacher's quite fond of muttering the story under his breath."

Harry nodded, a dark expression on his face. They had spoken about Sirius's departure from his parent's house before, when Harry was dreading going back to the Dursleys again, and he knew the idea both chilled and excited him.

"Your Uncle Alphard's gone too," he said, after a moment, pointing to another char mark that represented another black sheep – one who had left him the money to escape in the first place.

"You had a brother," said Ron, surprised.

Sirius's mouth twisted, though whether it was an attempt at a smile or a grimace he wasn't entirely sure himself. "Regulus," he told them bitterly. "He was younger than me. Believed all the nonsense my parents poured into him. A much better son, as I was constantly reminded."

"But he died," said Harry, reading the date sewn into the tree.

"Yeah," said Sirius heavily. For a moment, all the dark things his brother had become were erased from his mind, leaving him with the image of the nervous squalling toddler who had followed him around and, later, begged him to read to him under the covers when their parents were having parties downstairs. "Bloody idiot. He joined the Death Eaters."

"You're kidding!"

"Come on, Harry, haven't you seen enough of this house to tell what kind of wizards my family were?" Sirius said testily.

"Were – were your parents Death Eaters as well?"

"No, no, but believe me, they thought Voldemort had the right idea, they were all for the purification of the wizarding race. They weren't alone, either, there were quite a few people, before Voldemort showed his true colours, who thought he had the right idea about a lot of things. Of course, they got cold feet when they saw what he was prepared to do to get to power, though. Nut I bet my parents thought Regulus was a right little hero for joining up."

"Was he killed by an Auror?" Harry asked tentatively.

Sirius appreciated the effort. "Oh, no. He was murdered by Voldemort – or on his orders, most likely. I doubt Regulus was ever important enough to be killed by Voldemort in person. From what I found out after he died, he got in so far, then panicked about what he was being asked to do and tried to back out. Well, you don't just hand your resignation in to a monster like that. It's a lifetime of mindless service, or death."

They fell silent for a moment, all peering together at the Black family names. There were links to most modern wizarding families there, if you looked hard enough, and it wouldn't surprise Sirius at all if they'd each found a familiar name somewhere. He sighed, surprised to find that he didn't hate every one of them; just most of them.

"I haven't looked at this for years," he said. "There's Phineas Nigellus – my great-great-grandfather, see? Least popular headmaster Hogwarts ever had. And Araminta Meliflua – cousin of my mother's who tried to force through a Ministry bill to make muggle-hunting legal. And dear Aunt Elladora, who started the family tradition of beheading the house-elves when they got too old to carry trays… Of course, any time the family produced someone halfway decent, they were disowned."

He gestured at the many burn marks.

"I see Tonks isn't on here – maybe that's why Kreacher won't take orders from her – he's supposed to do anything anyone in the family asks him to do."

"You're related to Tonks?" Ginny asked, surprised.

"Yeah – her mother Andromeda was my favourite cousin," he told her, examining the tapestry closely. "No, look, she's been burned off as well – probably when she married Ted, Tonks' dad. He's a muggle-born. Her sisters are there, though."

He felt several pairs of eyes follow his pointing finger to Andromeda's burn mark – and then to her sisters names.

"You're related to Draco Malfoy!" Harry cried, shocked.

"All the pure-blood families are inter-related," said Sirius, and various Weasleys nodded. "If you're only going to let your sons and daughters marry pure-bloods your choice is very limited; there are hardly any of us left. Molly and I are cousins by marriage," he said, pointing at the far end of the tapestry, where parts of the Prewett line had been scorched through, "and Arthur's something like my second cousin once removed." He pointed at the opposite end, which bore similar damage.

"I have to say, I'd have been disappointed if we were still on there," said Fred. "No offence, Sirius."

"None taken."

"Lestrange," said Hermione, suddenly, pointing at the name next to Narcissa.

"Isn't that…?" Ron said, and then trailed off, eyeing the twins.

Curious, Sirius looked at them; the four youngest were exchanging covert glances – which was not lost on Fred or George.

"Isn't that what?" the latter asked, giving his brother what he intended to be a penetrating stare.

"Nothing," said Ron, quickly.

"She…" Ginny began, in a small voice. "She and her husband hurt the family of a friend of ours. That person doesn't want anyone to know."

The twins exchanged glances. "Oh."

Sirius half-expected them to start grilling the others, but they backed off instead. It was oddly mature behaviour, for them.

 _They grow up so fast,_ he thought, darkly amused at his own maudlin thoughts, and set them clearing the table for Molly and her impending tray of sandwiches.


	19. Doxycide

**Sorry it's late, folks – it's been that sort of a week.**

 **Parlanchina xx**

0o0

They emptied the glass-fronted cabinets that afternoon, which required a lot of concentration – and help from Remus, Sirius and Amelia, who were at least partially acquainted with their contents and didn't want to leave a bunch of teenagers to get eaten by them when they could be around to help – or laugh.

It was a job that required a great deal of concentration, as many of the objects in there seemed very reluctant to leave their dusty shelves. Sirius sustained a bad bite from a silver snuffbox that had taken a dislike to him; within seconds his bitten hand had developed an unpleasant crusty covering, like a tough brown glove.

"It's okay," he said, examining the hand with interest before tapping it lightly with his wand and restoring its skin to normal, "must be Wartcap powder in there."

He threw the box aside into the sack where they were depositing the debris from the cabinets; Remus saw George wrap his own hand carefully in a cloth moments later and sneak the box into his already Doxy-filled pocket.

He shook his head. Honestly, they were almost as bad as Sirius and James had been.

Feeling nostalgic (and not a little annoyed at the way Molly was presently treating Sirius and Amelia), Remus neglected to mention it to their mother – nor the eleven or so other annoying-but-not-deadly things the twins had secreted about their person by the end of the day.

They found an unpleasant-looking silver instrument, something like a many-legged pair of tweezers, which scuttled up Harry's arm like a spider when he picked it up and tried to puncture his skin. Sirius seized it and dashed it to pieces with one of his mother's heavy books. There was a musical box that emitted a faintly sinister, tinkling tune when wound, and they all found themselves becoming curiously weak and sleepy until Ginny had the sense to slam the lid shut; a heavy, ugly locket that none of them could open (also silver, so Remus avoided it); a number of ancient seals that he found utterly fascinating; and, in a dusty box, an Order of Merlin, First Class, that had been awarded to Sirius' grandfather for 'services to the Ministry'.

"It means he gave them a lot of gold," he told them contemptuously, throwing the medal into the rubbish sack, only for it to be rescued, when his back was turned, by Kreacher.

Remus let it go. He couldn't make his mind up about Kreacher.

By all accounts he was a hateful creature (and he had always been resolutely awful to Remus and the people he cared about), but there was something truly pathetic about him. He knew something about what isolation, grief and being treated as though you were worthless could do to a person, and as hurt and wounded Sirius felt, it didn't give him the right to take it out on Kreacher.

His distress was obvious, and while Remus refused to tolerate the house elf calling other people hurtful names, he also didn't see the harm in him keeping some of the houses 'treasures', as long as they weren't harmful.

He even rescued the gold signet ring of Sirius's father's that Kreacher had had a truly impressive meltdown about and tracked the house elf through the house using his scent. He eventually cornered him in the nest he had built himself under the boiler in the airing cupboard. Kreacher hadn't been happy to see him, and he'd muttered about Remus not being worthy to wipe spit off Orion Black's shoes, but the vitriol he was accustomed to receiving about being a werewolf diminished considerably.

He wandered back downstairs to the kitchen, wondering whether Sirius was wrong about Kreacher being unable to change.

Amelia had an arm around him almost as soon as he got through the door, giving him the strong suspicion that she knew exactly what he had been up to. Although she didn't share her cousin's passion for thoughtless emancipation of a people who didn't want to be emancipated, she still didn't like to see people treated as things, and as much as he loved his best friend, that's exactly what Sirius was doing to the elderly house elf.

She gave him a squeeze and he grinned. "Ready to go?"

"Just about," she said, and nodded to the back of the room where Ginny and Ron were putting up a spirited argument for being allowed to stay at Pear Tree Farm overnight.

"In some ways, it might be better if we were staying here," he remarked, but quietly, because the idea of Sirius having to stay in the stifling house was particularly unpleasant.

"Mmm," said Amelia. "It would be good to have a constant presence," she admitted. "Though with the rotation of Order members it's pretty near constant."

"We wouldn't have to navigate the Tube, either," said Remus. It wasn't that he entirely disliked the experience, but sometimes, given his over-developed senses, the London Underground could be a bit much, particularly as they were generally travelling at rush times to get to and from Grimmauld Place.

"True, but we'd still have to listen to all the bellyaching about the cleaning. More so, probably, given that there would be more opportunities."

Remus smiled.

"I swear, if I have to hear Hermione complaining about feather dusters one more time," said Amelia, with a kind of amused grace.

He chuckled and kissed her nose, just because she was there.

They both turned as Sirius came down the stairs, looking worried.

"What is it?" asked Remus, before his friend even reached the bottom. These days, 'worried' inevitably meant more trouble.

"I've just spoken to Minerva. Dumbledore's friends in Eastern Europe have got me an interview with the court at the Castle of Bones."

"That's good," said Amelia, though she, too, had read his expression, and didn't sound sure. "Isn't it?"

"In two days time."

 _Ah_.

"You're going to miss Harry's hearing," Remus said aloud, understanding.

"I've asked Dumbledore if they could find a way to change it, but –"

"But an ancient society like that would probably take that as an insult," Amelia guessed.

Sirius nodded. "And we can't afford to alienate then with Voldemort gathering his forces." He huffed. "What are we going to do? I need to be here for Harry – I can't just leave him hanging like that."

"You're not leaving him hanging," Remus assured his friend. "We're here."

"Yes," Amelia agreed. "We're not going anywhere. He won't have to face this alone, Sirius." She glanced over her shoulder at the boy, who was sitting on the kitchen table with Hermione, watching the Weasleys argue. "And, to be honest, I don't think they'd let him if he tried."

Sirius nodded and grimly clapped them both on the shoulder. "I'd better go break the news."

"Do you ever feel like the universe is conspiring against us?" Remus asked quietly, as across the room, Harry tried his best to look like he wasn't suddenly rudderless without his godfather around.

His wife settled comfortably against his side. "These days? Always."

Remus rubbed her arms. "What a world…"

"Well, you don't get to pick the world you live in, you only get to try to fix the bits that are hinky."

Remus pulled a face. "Hinky?"

Amelia snorted. "Remind me to introduce you to the wonders of Sunnydale High and a vampire slayer named Buffy," she said, to his confusion. "You could even build some of it into the Defence Against the Dark Arts curriculum next term."

He rolled his eyes, privately hoping the mad, weird woman he had married would never change. "Yes, well, I think I'm going to have enough trouble as it is with that Umbridge woman."

"Whatever horrors she decides to wreak on the school, we will face them together."

0o0

"It sucks that Sirius can't be here," said Hermione.

She had wedged herself between wall and the door jamb of Harry's room while the latter finished off some neglected Divination homework. He had been Putting On A Brave Face, as her aunt described it, but no one was really fooled.

Harry made a noise that could have been agreement. He was avoiding the subject; Hermione couldn't blame him, really, but she also didn't think it was likely to help, in the long run.

"He'll be back soon enough."

He made another noise.

"And you'll be fine at the tribunal – they'll all vote your way."

"Hermione…"

"You know we're all here for you, though, right?"

"Hermione, could we talk about something else?" he said, wearily closing his textbook.

"Like what?"

"Like – I dunno," he said, rubbing his face in obvious frustration. "All the demons of hell escaping at once and devouring the Ministry of Magic before Tuesday?"

Hermione snorted. "We should warn Mr Weasley, if the signs and portents are pointing in that direction."

"Oh, I think he can probably handle himself," said Harry. "After all, he did help to raise Fred and George – and Bill and Charlie. Anyone who can do that without their house burning down is probably going to be able to cope with a couple of demons."

"True," said Hermione, pleased that Harry was smiling now, at least.

"Urgh, I can't cope with homework anymore," he said. "I can't focus with…" he trailed off, aware he'd asked for a change of conversation for good reason.

"With the tribunal coming up," she finished sadly.

"Yeah."

"Well, at least we have the joy of watching your cousin, uncle and aunt trying to negotiate the Wizarding World," said Hermione.

"Don't remind me," said Harry, with a scowl. "I could have gone the whole year without seeing them again."

"True, but it's not their world," she told him. "They'll be stuck inside ours, entirely helpless – and dependent on you."

"Nothing new there," he grumbled.

"But what _is_ new," she said, "is us. We'll be there, making sure they understand that behaviour like theirs is entirely unacceptable. And, from what Mel tells me, Dudley's actually fighting his parents on this one."

"Which is beyond weird," said Harry. "I mean, he's used to getting his way and stuff, but he's never tried to stick up for me before."

"Well, he's not the only one spending most of the year away at school. Presumably the lack of their constant influence is having a positive effect."

"If it is, this is the first evidence I've seen of it."

"Come on," said Hermione, getting to her feet. "I think Mel and Remus are going to watch her old Buffy videos, and last time she re-watched them she said I was too young."

"You think we're in with a good chance of being old enough?"

Hermione nodded as they started down the stairs. "Definitely. She was eleven when she watched it, and the whole vampire and demon thing is a lot less scary when some of them would probably end up teaching us. And it's not like we haven't faced the undead before."

"Hogwarts is that kind of school."

She snorted. "And they think Sunnydale has problems!"

0o0

"So, we're staying at Grimmauld Place tomorrow night," said Amelia, over breakfast the next morning, "and the night after that."

"Great," said Harry, pushing his bacon around the plate.

"I know it's not exactly the Hilton," she said, dropping the HP sauce next to him. "But it's better than trying to get through London at rush hour. And I think Arthur's convinced Molly to let Ron and Ginny stay over – the twins, too."

He perked up at that.

"Of course," she added, "that probably also means you'll all be dragged into cleaning again."

Laughing at the expression on his face, Remus joined him at the table, tea in hand. "Think of it this way," he suggested. "Can you imagine Molly Weasley letting Dudley get away with not helping us de-sinister the house?"

0o0

"So when does Oz show up?" Hermione asked.

The four of them were waiting at Euston Station for the train bearing Harry's remaining blood relatives to London – and to possibly the weirdest sleepover in any of their histories. Harry was trying not to act like he was walking to his doom, but it was hard for him not to; all of this was hard for him.

"Mid-season two," said Amelia, looking out over the crowd. "There's a whole lot of slayage before we get there."

"Who's Oz?" Harry asked, probably pleased to find a topic of conversation

"He's Amelia's favourite," said Hermione, with a certain amount of relish. "From _Buffy_. She had a poster of him in her room and everything."

Remus shot his wife a look; she seemed remarkably complacent about it.

"He is?" he asked, intrigued.

They'd been watching the series she had 'adored' when she was growing up, and he was enjoying it so far, if it was a little far-fetched (he couldn't stop arguing with it), but this 'Oz' fellow had yet to make an appearance.

"He is. I do love me some Oz-ness."

Remus raised an eyebrow. Was it crazy to be jealous of a fictional character?

"What's he like?" Harry asked, clutching at any available straw to avoid thinking about why they were there.

Amelia grinned, looking away from them. "He's sweet, and kind, and funny, and laconic – and the lead singer in a band called _'Dingoes Ate My Baby'_ , and deliciously mischievous and anti-establishment," she said. "Kind of Marauderish. And loyal, and honourable and delightfully Oz-y." She shrugged. "And he's Willow's paramour – at least for a while – and I love Willow."

"I told you he was her favourite," said Hermione, nudging her friend in the ribs.

"You had a poster of him?" Remus asked.

"Uh-huh," she said. "Along with a map of Middle Earth and a caricature of me I got at Alton Towers." She met her husband's gaze. "Like you never had posters of cute girls up when you were a teenager."

"Actually, the female representations in our dorm were all down to Sirius and James," he said, with a glance at Harry, who had gone quite pink. "I had a poster of the Rolling Stones."

"Husband, you are a man of taste and vision."

"Of course," he said, with an appreciative grin. "And you had a picture of this 'Oz' person."

Amelia shrugged. "He's a cutie."

"Should I be worried?" he asked, as Harry and Hermione laughed.

"Oh, absolutely – if Oz walked through Euston Station right now, I would forsake my marriage vows and away I would flee," she teased, her head to one side.

"I'm wounded," he said, feigning horror. "Abandoned. And by my own wife, too."

She shot him a sardonic smile. "Oh, and if – say – Natalie Portman walked past?"

Remus nodded gravely. "I would be a slave to her beauty."

Amelia grinned, knowing she had him. "And yet."

"Who's Natalie Portman?" Harry asked.

"She was in Star Wars, Thor, loads of things, I'll tell you later," said Hermione, narrowing her eyes.

"There you are, we've been looking all over for you!"

Remus didn't need to turn around to recognise the voice – and Harry had instantly developed a deep scowl.

"How odd," said Amelia. "Since we're waiting exactly where you asked us to."

"Hello Petunia," said Remus; he turned to find her glaring at them, an extremely pinched expression on her face. Her son was beside her, looking scared but determined. "Dudley."

"Alright, Harry?" said Dudley, sounding distinctly awkward.

"Er – hi. Where's Uncle Vernon?" Harry asked, perplexed.

"Not coming," said Dudley, with a shrug.

"He – he had to work," Petunia stammered, looking pale.

"He didn't want us to come down," said Dudley, unexpectedly, ignoring his mother's attempts to shush him. "So he went off to work because he thought we wouldn't go anywhere without him."

"And you came anyway," said Amelia, impressed. "Nicely done."


	20. Muggles in London

The small group were standing in the little park on Grimmauld Place, negotiating.

Travelling through the underground hadn't been too bad, since it was a thing Petunia and Dudley associated with normal, non-magical activity, and even the walk from the station hadn't been too bad. Petunia had been tight-lipped and disapproving of everything, particularly the piles of rubbish waiting for collection on some of the doorstops, or the less than top-model cars. Amelia was having a hard time reminding herself to be gentle with the woman, particularly since she was so far out of her depth it might genuinely give her a heart attack.

The way she'd treated Harry over the years left her a heavily weighted balance sheet, however, and even Remus – with his abundant store of patience – was beginning to send her irritated glances.

Of course, as soon as they'd tried to hand her and Dudley their parchment declaring the location of the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix – now the standard means of initiating people into the secret of Grimmauld Place – she had made a funny little shrill noise and backed away, as if the parchment was going to burn her.

No amount of cajoling would placate her, or get her to open the thing – nor let Dudley see his. She was presently clinging to her son's arm, freaking out. Worse, it was beginning to drizzle.

"It's a rehearsal for a play," said Amelia, as a midday jogger slowed down to find out if he could help.

"Yeah?" he asked, quickly moving from concerned to amused. "What's it about?"

"Kind of an Alan Bennett parody," she told him, fabricating wildly. "A middle-class mother forced to come to terms with magic."

"Nice! You performing out here?"

"Hyde Park," she lied. "Just getting a bit of practice in. We've not got a title yet…"

"I'll look out for the posters," he said, with a grin. "Or…" His grin broadened somewhat. "You could give me your number and let me know when it's on."

Surprised, Amelia stopped paying attention to the little drama playing out behind her and laughed; she narrowed her eyes at the man. "How would I let you know about the play if _you_ had _my_ number?" she asked.

"I guess I could give you mine, too," he offered, already reaching for his mobile.

"Hah," she chuckled. "Nice try, but no, sorry. Besides, I'm married."

"Oh," he said, looking a little crestfallen. "Well you don't get if you don't ask." He paused and grinned again. "Happily?"

"Very," she told him, amused at his persistence. She jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "To him."

"Ah," he said, and gave a shrug. "All the pretty ones are taken. Good luck with the play."

He put in his headphones and jogged away. Amelia shook her head. That hadn't happened in a while.

She turned back to the others just in time to see Remus lose his temper, rip open the parchment and hold it in front of Pentunia's face. She shrieked, but she had clearly seen enough of the wording for the spell to take effect because she looked beyond Remus and gasped, pressing her long, thin hands to her pale cheeks.

"Mum, what is it?" Dudley asked, worried.

"It's – it's –"

"You can't talk about it!" Remus cried, exasperated. "And we need to get inside."

"Dudley, it's okay, really," said Harry. "I had to do the same thing."

"What's it do?" he asked, gingerly taking the parchment from his cousin.

"It's like… it's like extra security for the house," said Harry, choosing his words carefully.

"Like an alarm?"

"Kind of? It's more like – making it harder to find."

"And you did it?"

"Yes," said Harry; behind him, Hermione – who was trying to calm Petunia down – nodded.

"Does it hurt?" the boy asked, sparing a glance for his mother.

"No. If feels…" Harry thought about it for a moment. "Weird – like someone breaking an egg on your head."

Dudley pulled a face, but he unfolded the parchment and read the words. Then he shuddered. "Urgh," he said. "It's exactly like an egg, all cold and –" He stopped, looking up. "Whoa."

"Come on," said Amelia. "Let's get in, out of the weather."

Somehow, between herself and Hermione, they managed to pilot Petunia across the road – largely helped by Dudley, who had quite willingly followed Remus and Harry, mesmerised by the sudden appearance of the shabby old house.

" _This_ is the place you expect us to stay?" Petunia demanded, when they were on the bottom step. "It's – it's disgusting! Look at that paintwork – and the cobwebs."

"You should have seen them when we first got here," said Amelia.

"Big, were they?" Harry asked, casting around for anything less embarrassing than his aunt wigging out on the doorstep.

"Covered the whole corridor," Remus told them, and both Hermione and Dudley said "Eurgh."

"It's – no!" Petunia cried, fighting to escape. "We won't stay here – you can't make us! We won't!"

"Shut _up_!" Harry snapped, losing his temper. "You can't just decide against something because you think it's beneath you!"

"Yes I can! You're just like your mother –"

"And thank Merlin someone is," Remus remarked, uncharacteristically acidly. He stalked inside, and Harry followed him.

"Dudders, come down here, sweetie-pie!" Petunia cajoled, obviously desperate. "We'll go to Selfridges and you can pick out whatever you want – you can –"

Dudley hesitated on the threshold for a moment before making up his mind. "No, Mum. It's just a house."

He went inside, and Petunia wavered, horrified.

"It's alright," Amelia told her, in what she hoped was a gentle tone. "You'll both be okay. You've got a room together upstairs, and Molly's making lasagne."

"La-lasagne?" she echoed, snatching at the familiar word.

"Yep," said Hermione. She shared a look with her cousin and both women let go of Petunia Dursley. "I'm going to see if the boys are here yet."

"Good idea," said Amelia, and hopped up the stairs. Remus was waiting for her in the hall. A little further in, Dudley was staring, fascinated, at one of the moving portraits, and Harry was staring, fascinated, at him.

"I think he's almost forgotten that he ought to be afraid of it," said Remus quietly. He glanced out of the open front door, where Petunia was creeping up the front steps, horrified that her son had so willingly stepped inside a run-down magical building. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper out there."

Amelia pinched the bridge of her nose, rewarding him with a wry smile. "Don't be. Ghandi would have strangled her."

"Was – um – was that bloke chatting you up?" he asked, feigning a commendable lack of concern. "The jogger?"

Amelia smiled. "Noticed that, did you?"

"Pheromones," he said, and shrugged, awkwardly.

She took a moment to digest this information. "Ew. He asked for my number. That hasn't happened in a while."

Remus pulled a face at her. "I hate to admit it, but I can't say I'm all that unhappy about that."

Amelia laughed. "Daft thing. You know you're the only one for me," she said, and kissed him soundly. "Besides, it does mean you have a hot wife."

He snorted. "I don't have a particular problem with that."

"Good," she said; this time, he kissed her.

"I hardly think that kind of public display of affection is appropriate," Petunia sniffed. She had made it inside, now, and Amelia went to close and bolt the door behind her.

"Why?" Hermione asked, raising an eyebrow. "They _are_ married. Come on, I'll show you to your room."

0o0

Hermione sat on the stairs on the third floor of Grimmauld Place, her chin in her hands. It had been rather a trying day.

Bringing the Dursleys into the heart of the Wizarding World was never going to be a piece of cake, but an afternoon and evening with Petunia Dursley throwing a fit at every new manifestation of magic had very quickly worn thin. She had shrieked at the portraits (which had woken Mrs Black up and left Mel muttering about paint thinner), stared with abject horror at the lamps and candles they were using instead of electric lighting, sniffed at the linen on her bed, turned her nose up at Molly Weasley's cooking, hyperventilated when the twins had Apparated into the middle of the kitchen, gaped in silent horror when the dishes had started washing themselves, and fainted when Kreacher appeared, muttering, from a cupboard.

Together, they had carried her upstairs and left her to recover with a cup of tea and her handbag, which she had refused to let go of, even lying spark out on the kitchen floor.

Dudley, on the other hand, had been a different matter. His fear of magic and the unknown was obvious, but with every new shock, he became a little less weirded out, and a bit more bold. He was still a little wary around the twins, though their father had encouraged them to apologise for the business with the Ton Tongue Toffee the year before. It had made him strangely polite, too, which was clearly freaking Harry out.

However, her friend seemed to be taking him under his wing a little, and probably for the first time in their lives, Dudley wasn't bullying him. Consequently, she, Ron and Ginny were being more patient with him than he probably deserved.

Molly had even recruited him into the cleaning programme, as Mel had predicted. He was clearly accustomed to getting his way, and looked very much like he'd rather not help, but there was enough terror of what Ron's mum might do to him if he refused that he'd ducked his head and allowed himself to be shepherded in the next room that needed de-Doxyfying. Since the others weren't scared of them, he had pretended not to be either.

In a weird sort of way, she supposed the way his parents had brought him up to feel superior had made life as hard for him as it had for Harry. From what his cousin said, he didn't have many friends who didn't simply agree with him all the time.

He reminded her of Draco Malfoy, a little.

"Um," said a voice.

Hermione turned to find Dudley behind her, looking a little lost.

"Are you alright?" she asked, surprised.

"Er – bathroom?" he asked, tentatively.

"Last door on the right," said Hermione. "I think Kreacher was in there earlier, so watch out in case he unscrewed the seat again."

Dudley paused, apparently thinking about this. "Is there a different bathroom?"

Hermione chuckled and pointed to a door on the next landing. "No guarantees the twins haven't left something explosive in there, though."

Dudley sighed and, to her surprise, sat down next to her. "Is it always like this?" he asked.

"Like what?"

"This – this stressful," he said, gesturing to the bathroom door. "I mean, God, you can't even go to the loo without checking nothing's going to happen to you first."

Hermione laughed. "You should see it at Hogwarts," she remarked. "There's one girls' bathroom that floods regularly because the angry teenage ghost who hangs out there gets a bit stroppy."

"Really?" Dudley asked, in a slightly higher voice than usual. "Ghosts are real, too?"

Hermione nodded. "I'm afraid so. But if it helps they tend to stick around the places they died or loved in life – and you wouldn't be able to see most of them, anyway."

"But some you can?"

"Yes. There's quite a few at Hogwarts."

Dudley gave a nervous laugh. "Next you're going to tell me that they're your teachers, or something."

"Well, one of them is," Hermione admitted. "The others sort of look after the houses, or hang out in different bits of the school."

He gave a sigh. "I don't know how you and Harry do it," he said glumly.

Hermione looked at him, puzzled. "Do what?"

"You're so calm about it – you've got ghosts for teachers and in your loos, you do homework that explodes, you've got a sort of goblin thing lurking around the house… and you're all weirdly calm about the fact that Harry's parents were murdered by a madman who might be back on the loose."

"Well, when you put it like that," she said, smiling slightly. It would probably be best not to mention the basilisk or the dragons, she decided.

Dudley shook his head. "I just… I'm not used to being scared of things."

"Well that's just it," Hermione said. "You do sort of get used to it. I used to be a bit scared of the ghosts, and the first time they showed up on our first day, almost the whole year group screamed – even the kids who grew up in magical families. It can be dangerous and terrifying, but there are lots of things that aren't."

"Like what?" he asked, curious.

"Most of the charms we learn can be quite beautiful," she said. "Like in the Great Hall – where we eat and stuff. There are hundreds of candles in there, just floating above the tables, and the ceiling is enchanted to reflect the sky outside – it's incredible. And the food appears out of nowhere."

"That does sound pretty cool…"

Hermione smiled encouragingly. "And some of the animals we come into contact with are quite cute." She told him about puffskeins and nifflers.

"We've got dogs and horses," said Dudley, "and there are some rabbits that the games master keeps for his kids. You don't get any lessons with them, really, though. I kind of wish we did. It'd be more fun than stuff like maths."

Hermione nodded politely, even though she'd always rather liked maths. "A lot of the students have owls or cats, and our friend Neville has a toad."

"A _toad_? Urgh!"

"Oh, Trevor's alright. I mean, it's a bit of a shock when he lands on your foot in the middle of the night, and he's always getting lost around the castle, but –"

"It's a _castle_?" he asked, impressed. "Wow."

"Yeah," said Hermione, with mild pride.

"Bloody hell," Dudley swore. "I'm almost jealous."

Hermione laughed. "Almost?"

"My school's pretty boring, really, but it's safer."

"What's it like?" she asked.

Dudley gave her a sideways look. "I thought you grew up in our world?"

"I did," she told him. "But I all but left it when I went to Hogwarts – except for the holidays. And I spend a lot of time with Ron and Ginny's family in the summer. I've always wondered what it would be like. I mean – Mel's told me a lot about when she was at school, but…"

"Well," said Dudley, thinking about it. "It's alright, I guess. There's a lot of concrete. Nothing that can eat you."

"Always a bonus," said Ron, appearing with Harry and Ginny from the corridor above. "Not being eaten."

"Er, yeah," said Dudley, immediately getting to his feet. "It helps. The bathroom's just along here, yeah?"

He made a swift exit.

"Alright?" asked Harry, and Hermione realised they were feeling a little over-protective.

"Yes," she said, and glanced in the direction that Dudley had departed. "I think he's just feeling a bit out of his depth. He wasn't unpleasant, or anything."

"Yeah," said Harry. "It's weirding me out."

"He's still a bit of a moron," said Ron, a touch sourly.

"No argument," said Harry.

"He did stand up to your uncle, though," Ginny pointed out.

Harry nodded, and then laughed, a little sadly. "You know, it's weird. For as long as I can remember, Dudley's gone out of my way to make my life miserable. I should be enjoying how worried he is, but…"

"But he's your cousin," Hermione finished.

"Yeah," he said running a hand through his messy hair. "It doesn't feel right to mess him about – especially since he's going seriously out of his way to testify tomorrow."

Ron, who knew a lot more about living with irritating family members, nodded. "He is kind of coming through for you, I guess."

"Come on," said Ginny, making up her mind. "I think I saw some old board games and gobstones in the library. Let's see if we can't make him feel like wizards aren't as bad as his parents think."

"I'll grab some popcorn," said Ron.

"I'll help," Hermione offered. "I bet there's some butterbeer in the kitchen, too."

"I'll get the exploding snap cards," Harry said, already heading upstairs.

Ginny rolled her eyes as her friends took off. "I guess I'll wait for Dudley, then."


End file.
